


You Should Stop, and Look Beside You

by Ambrevalentine



Series: Loving Kurt Wallander [1]
Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Episode: s01e01 Sidetracked, Episode: s01e02 Firewall, Episode: s01e03 One Step Behind, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrevalentine/pseuds/Ambrevalentine
Summary: A closer look at Magnus Martinsson’s thoughts and actions during the first season of BBC Wallander and an exploration of his feelings for his supervisor, Kurt Wallander.





	You Should Stop, and Look Beside You

* * *

 

If the day was going to get any worse, he might have to hand in his resignation, Magnus Martinsson thought, moodily. It was all well and good, being the only one in the team who had the gall to confront Kurt Wallander when he was, well, being an arse, but if that meant he had to do one more menial research task, he was going to bloody scream!

It had started with his beloved coffee machine dying on him and drenching his kitchen counter in thick blackness. That should have been a warning that he should simply return to bed. Then he got a call about half way to the Station that a robbery was in progress. Minutes later, he found himself running after a rather athletic chap only to trip and fall into a puddle of sticking mud. What that mud had been made of, he still did not want to know. His clothes were a mess and he had to get into his car like this, smearing the... thing all over the seat.

He barely had time to shower and change before he had to fill the paperwork relative to the man another officer had finally arrested. Then, just as he was almost done, Ebba had managed to spill coffee – again with the blasted thing – on his shirt. The receptionist had been mortified, but that didn’t make anything better. It was his only change of clothes. Thus he had to borrow another one from Kalle Svedberg. The man was quite a bit larger than himself – though Magnus was taller – and he felt like a child borrowing his father's shirt in secret.

The look of annoyed bewilderment on Kurt's face at his predicament had been enough to make his misery complete. He hated the man sometimes. As soon as they were back on track, he couldn't help but question Kurt's – in his opinion idiotic – decision yet again as he was forced to go through a shop's accounts as punishment. Menial work. Nearly five hours of menial work. Any bloody uniform on duty could have done it. Hell, Ebba could have done it. But no. He had made the mistake of opening his mouth and his superior was punishing him for it.

Again.

He looked up at Kurt's office door. He felt angry with himself for disappointing him and knowing that only angered him more. Even after all his mistreatments, he still had far too much admiration and respect for the man. It was not even that Kurt was so amazing a detective, in Magnus' admittedly probably biased opinion. He was clever, yes, and he had an almost unnatural intuition, but he was also rash and tended to forget to warn anyone when he was doing something, treating his colleagues more like tools than actual human beings. And of course, he always looked like he was one step short of suicide. That, Magnus had learned, had been made worse since his wife left him. Magnus was already there at that time, but, fresh from transfer, he had not realised the change immediately. Svedberg had said they had been on a rough patch for a very long time.

All in all, Kurt Wallander was difficult to work with – or for, as the man acted _de facto_ as their supervisor – and as far as a team player as they got.

Thus it was not his exemplary record, but Kurt's deep, profound humanity which drew Magnus in. What made Kurt so unstable was also his greatest quality. He was raw, in touch with his emotions in a way Magnus had never thought anyone could be, especially a man his age. He remembered many of his older male instructors at the Academy as emotionally constipated and authoritarian. Paternal in the way Magnus' father had been paternal. Hard. Uncompromising. They had built a wall between themselves and the world.

Magnus got up and walked, his findings in his hands, towards his superior's office and knocked lightly.

Kurt Wallander was not like them. For a start, he was “Kurt” to Magnus. Not “sir”, not “Wallander”, “Kurt”. True, the Station was pretty relaxed with names and ranks. Their Chief of Police, Lisa Holgersson, was also “Lisa” to Magnus. Still, it bred easy familiarity among them. And Kurt was not paternal, or even a father figure to his team: he did not take them under his wing, was not particularly protective, could be downright insensitive, and he did not seem to deal well with other people's emotions. Perhaps he did not deal well with emotions at all...

More often than not, he simply looked... lost. Although there was nothing simple about it, Magnus supposed.

Receiving no answer he assumed Kurt to still be out and pushed the door open, intending on leaving his findings on his supervisor' desk and going back to his actual job.

Kurt, he thought, Kurt wore his heart on his sleeve.

And as he stepped in, he found yet another proof of that right before his eyes. Kurt was... crying?

The “There's nothing wrong with those accounts” died on his lips before the second syllable. It was not the first time he had seen Kurt cry. Yet it always took him aback. Men were not supposed to cry, not openly. At least that was what Magnus' father had been adamant to teach him.

“Kurt,” he tried, gently.

The man lifted his head to look at him. His eyes were... hollowed. He shook his head and whipped his face in two quick moves.

“Go see Andersson's daughter. It may be nothing, but I have a feeling she's hiding something. Ask her about the rope.”

Magnus opened his mouth to ask if he was alright but finally decided against it and nodded. He put the files in front of Wallander and left silently.

God, this day was miserable.

 

* * *

 

“The girl immolated herself, right in front of him,” Anne-Britt Hoglund explained later, as they sat together in the small café near the Station. It was not unusual for the team to have a coffee or a quick drink together, especially, Magnus had found out early, when they wanted to talk about Kurt. Sven Nyberg nodded gloomily. “Poor kid,” he added, looking into his cup as if it held the answer to all the horrors of the world.

Magnus frowned. “So it was suicide,” he stated and the look in Anne-Britt's eyes told him she thought he was being insensitive. It was horrifying of course, but there was nothing they could do about it. Magnus tended not to dwell on things he could not change. At least, he tried not to. Whatever had pushed the kid to this extreme, it was in the past now. He would not have wanted to be in Kurt's place though.

“That's horrible,” he amended. “Is Kurt all right?”

He knew Wallander was far from all right. He did not want to meet the person who would be all right after this. But he hoped Anne-Britt would give him some insight. She was the one the man confided in.

She shrugged helplessly. “I doubt it. He was... he was crying after. I mean, can you imagine? I saw the body and I felt sick. And the smell! God! We don't even know her name, if she had any family... We only have her pendant.” She pushed her spoon around her now empty cup thoughtfully.

Then she shook her head.

“What about your case,” she asked instead.

“Insurance fraud. They paid Peterson to rob them. Nothing we haven't seen before.” And nothing very exciting on top of it. The man had confessed as soon as Magnus had hinted towards that direction. He was no experienced criminal, just a friend of the shop owner's daughter's, in need of some cash.

Not that Ystad – small town in South Sweden as it was – was the place to find high class criminals.

Usually.

“It's nice sometimes, when it's simple,” Anne-Britt said. Magnus was not sure he agreed. He had not chosen his profession to be bored. He knew his eagerness was not always welcome, but he had ambition and would not hide it. He did not intend to stay in Ystad all his life.

Yet he was surprisingly hesitant to move on. In a year or so, perhaps?

Anne-Britt chose that moment to get up. “I have to pick-up my daughter,” she explain with a smile and left.

“Is Kurt always so... invested?” Magnus asked Nyberg. The man shrugged. “Pretty much, yes.” He sounded like he wanted to say more, but finally decided against it. “He's drinking more, isn't he...” Magnus tried, unsure if that was being too forwards, but curious all the same. Alcohol was not supposed to be a cop's best friend. “Yeah. I mean, you see what we see long enough and you will too, believe me. Plus Kurt is... he's always invested one hundred percent. All consuming job and all that.” He got up. “I should go too. I'm going to watch some telly and try to forget about this God forsaken day.”

Magnus was left alone, staring at his cup.

 

* * *

 

The following day, as it happened, turned out to be even worse.

“I keep seeing her face,” Kurt had been saying, voice soft like feathers in the wind, and Magnus had felt his heart go out to the man, “the way she looked at me.”

Open. Kurt was always so open.

“Well, maybe she thought you were someone else,” Magnus tried, because it felt too raw. They had to make sense of it, not wallow in it. Kurt glanced at him looking disarmingly lost. “You know...” he added, though it was quite clear Kurt did not agree.

“D.M.S” Kalle interrupted, turning the pendant between his fingers, “the Crime Bureau have got a database on abbreviations and acronyms haven't they?”

That made Magnus chuckle in disbelief. Three letters, the permutations were endless. Could be her own initials for that matter… But then he made the mistake of opening his mouth. Again. How many times in his life had he put his foot in his mouth this way? Too many to count.

“Well we have, but… Well, I wouldn't want to be the schmuck who has to troll through that lot. For three letters? God!”

Both Kalle and Anne-Britt looked up at him with aggravation. He realised immediately what a mistake he had made.

“Oh right,” he said, dryly, “that's me, isn't it?”

Kurt did not seem to notice either way. Then Lisa came in and they all went to a murder scene. All except Magnus. Going to a crime scene. Something a little more exciting than what Magnus ended up doing. But if he had at some point thought this to be the mistake of the week, he was to be sorely disappointed.

 

* * *

 

It was his own fault really. His inability to shut his mouth, to think before talking, coupled with his desire for some recognition. Murder of a famous ex-politician, it was bound to be high-profile. He wanted to help, wanted his part of the media's and his hierarchy's attention, wanted the excitement of the chase. Surely a suicide, even by immolation, could wait… Was that so bad of him, to want a chance at being as respected as Kurt was?

Apparently it was. Wallander had been furious. Magnus was not sure he had ever seen him so angry, especially at someone who was not a suspect. His words had cut deep, filled with cold fury and contempt.

Despite towering over his supervisor, he had felt very small. Insensitive. A complete jerk.

And a disappointment. Somehow, that still hurt more than the rest.

He wanted to get angry, to feel like he had the right to be the wounded party here. But he knew different. Kurt was right. His ego had clouded the horror of her tragedy. 

God, the way Kurt had looked at him...

He ended up working through the night, neither feeling like sleep nor going home. He was determined to prove to Kurt that this faux pas would not happen again. He was determined to get the name of that girl, to find out why she had killed herself in so horrible, painful a fashion.

He wanted to horrible feeling in his guts to go away, for Kurt to look at him with respect again.

 

* * *

 

He was on his seventh cup of coffee when they got the call about a certain Carlman's death. An art dealer of some sort. Lisa called Anne-Britt and Kalle. He did not even looked up from his files, did not ask to be involved. He would not make the same mistake twice.

 

* * *

 

In the small hours of the morning, he took a shower and changed. He finally had something to show Kurt.

Dolorès Maria Santana. He had looked at her picture for a long time, trying to reconcile that painfully young girl and the body he had not seen but imagined. The fire. The pain. The grief her father would feel.

He stopped Wallander as his superior was crossing the room towards his office. The way the man looked at him spoke volume and, for a moment, Magnus hesitated, licking his lips. But he decisively showed him his findings. Kurt looked at the small picture the same way Magnus had, and he heard his supervisor' sadness when he mentioned the girl's father. Kurt had a daughter, Magnus knew. He was probably feeling some kinship.

Kurt sighed and closed the file. “Well done,” he said quickly and the relief Magnus felt was far too big for such a small thing.

He saw Kurt disappear into his office and thought that, maybe, getting the obviously exhausted man a coffee would not be such a bad thing.

But by the time he came back with the mug, Wallander was gone.

 

* * *

  

“An ex-policeman?” he asked Svedberg, leaning back on his colleague's desk, arms crossed. Kalle shrugged helplessly and Magnus frowned. At the heart of it all, the dead politician, the murdered art dealer: one of their own. A cop, dirty, covering the miserable secrets and disgusting habits of corrupted men in power.

Nothing new, of course, he thought grimly, but it still felt so very wrong.

And now an avenging creature running around Scania, scalping them.

“You're not going to believe this,” Anne-Britt declared as she slid next to him, eyes shining as they always did when she had some piece of juicy news. “There's a profiler here. He's just arrived. The prosecutor's finally sent him.”

Magnus perked up a bit.

“A profiler,” Kalle repeated dubiously, leaning back on his chair. “Kurt's not going to like it.”

“I've been to a seminar given by one of those guys when I was at the Academy,” Magnus said, remembering. “He was very good. It was fascinating. He talked about the intricacy of the serial killer's mind.”

The look Kalle gave him was just this side of “Are you even serious?” but he ignored it.

“Well, let's hope this one can help,” Anne-Britt said, “the victims seem far from angels, but even so, I don't like the idea of this scalping maniac roaming the streets.”

 

* * *

 

Magnus was making a herculean effort not to laugh out loud at Kurt's sharp comments in response to the profiler's failure to profile anything of value. That would definitely not gain him any favour, considering the situation. Still. He glanced at his superior. Kurt could be very funny, in a dry sort of way, when he was annoyed. 

“A psychic... borderland” Kurt was repeating, in such a caustic tone Magnus had to bit his lips and look down to keep his composure.

The profiler had not made an impression and Magnus did not find it in himself to feel sorry for him. For once he was not the one being the office's idiot.

Later, Anne-Britt asked Kurt to give the man a chance and, this time, Magnus could not help but laugh at Kurt's answer just like she did.

 

* * *

 

Kurt and Anne-Britt had already left and Magnus was about to do the same when he suddenly remembered Kalle had tried to tell him something about the Native American culture after the profiler asked if they had contacted Native societies. Kurt had cut Svedberg off before he could finish. He caught up with his colleague on the stairway to the basement. 

“Kalle?”

“Yes?” The man stopped and looked up at him. Magnus' long legs allowed him to join him in a few seconds and he smiled at his colleague.

“What were you about to say earlier? About Native American culture?”

The way Kalle looked at him, startled and a bit confused, confused him in turn. It felt like Kalle was actually surprised someone could be genuinely interested in what he had to say.

“N… Nothing. I just… well, there are parts of their cultures I find quite fascinating, that's all.”

“Oh. So you've studied them?” he asked, as they went down to the locker-room.

“Not… really. Well, I spoke with a few interesting members of the cultural societies and they pointed me to some references. So I got a few books, you know.”

He was about to continue when Magnus' phone rang. It was his mother. He winced.

“Sorry, Kalle, I've got to take that."

The call was as unpleasant as he had thought it would be and after pocketing his phone, he did not feel like talking any more. He bade goodbye to a somewhat gloomy Svedberg and left.

 

* * *

 

He got the call just as he was falling asleep. He couldn't really complain, he was finally part of the investigation, but he was also dead tired. Even the sight of the profiler getting sick at the view of the new body was not enough to cheer him up. He exchanged a look with Kalle and Anne-Britt, and Nyberg sniggered. They watched as Kurt got increasingly annoyed and then followed him to a nearby overnight coffee shop.

He looked stressed out and as exhausted as Magnus felt.

 

* * *

 

When he got in the next morning, Kalle and Anne-Britt were discussing in hushed tones next to the coffee machine. He took his jacket off and joined them. Anne-Britt had what Magnus called privately her cocker-spaniel face on, which meant she was worried.

“Tuomas told me his dad got arrested. It wasn't pretty. They called him in early this morning.”

“How old is his dad?”

“Morning guys,” he said, though it did not stop the conversation. They simply replied distractedly before continuing, while he poured himself a coffee.

“I don't know. Eighty perhaps? He can't be well. I mean, arrested for getting into a fight, at his age?” She shook her head.

“Must be hard on Kurt. He looks so tired already. And with the case, he...”

That caught Magnus' attention. “Kurt's dad got arrested?” he asked, not sure he had understood correctly, brows rising.

“Yeah, early this morning. One of the officers on duty, Tuomas – you know, big guy with reddish hair? – he told me. For starting a fight, he said. At the supermarket, of all places. They didn't charge him, of course. Nobody was seriously injured after all.”

“Is he… er… in a home or something?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“Oh no! No, he's a painter. An artist I mean. As far as I know, he's still working. I think he's got a house somewhere by the sea.”

Magnus frowned. Kurt must have been terribly embarrassed, and worried, and...

“He's not been himself for a while,” Kalle said, looking at the closed door to Kurt's office. “Kurt I mean. Since Inga left.”

Magnus wrapped his long fingers around the mug, still feeling the chill from outside in his bones, and listened more attentively. Anne-Britt nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

“I hope he finds someone, it would do him good. He's always working. He needs to let go or he'll burn out.”

“He has a daughter, does he not?” Magnus asked softly. She nodded again but Kalle was the one who answered:

“Yes, Linda. But it's not easy between them either, I think.”

“Mind you, with the divorce,” Anne-Britt sighed.

“He still wears his ring, though,” Magnus noted. He was aware of the divorce immediately after it happened – the Station gossips never failed – but he had wondered over that fact.

“I think he can't admit they're finished, even to himself,” she said softly, “I don't know how I'd cope, in his position. If my husband left, I mean. I think it had been hard for a while though. It's too bad, Inga was lovely. I really liked her.”

“How was she?” Magnus could not help but ask, curious. He had only met Inga once, in passing, the last Christmas party they had, just before the divorce. But he had not stayed long enough to have a conversation with her. Linda Wallander was not there, off on holidays somewhere, as fas as he had understood. He had noticed some tensions in the couple, but that was it.

“Inga? I don't know… Quick witted, I'd say. Funny too. And very tender, sweet. Warm. I think she was, well is, a genuinely good soul.”

“She was rather plain, though,” Kalle cut and Anne-Britt frowned. “I mean, she was sweet and all, but… oh, never mind. Hey there.”

Both Anne-Britt and Magnus turned in the direction Kalle was looking towards, only to see the profiler not far from them. He seemed a bit embarrassed, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He had been listening in on them, Magnus realised, annoyed he had not noticed him earlier.

“Enjoying the show,” he asked dryly. The man coughed and shrugged a little. “I was wondering if you knew where Detective Wallander was?” “Well, he's obviously not here, is he?” “Magnus,” Anne-Britt chided softly, then, to the profiler, “he's not arrived yet. He shouldn't be long.”

The man nodded hastily and scrambled away.

“Am I the only one who thinks he looks like a rat,” Magnus asked, grinning, and Anne-Britt elbowed him with a chuckle.

 

* * *

 

The next session with the profiler was no better than the first, except they had more sordid elements to add to the case. Incest and abuse. Jesus.

The day had been long enough already, and the man was spouting useless analysis.

Magnus winced at the “there's something essentially male, about the killings.”

 _Essentially male,_ he thought, annoyed, _what does that even mean?_

So far, the man had proven to be remarkably unhelpful.

Once the briefing was over, he walked to his desk and sat down, eyeing the profiler and Wallander from afar. What was the man saying to Kurt?

“Want a drink,” he heard Kurt offer and watched, in disbelief – and another sentiment he could not quite identify – as they left together.

“Where are they going?” Kalle asked him.

“I don't know,” he snapped, grabbing a pile of file rather more furiously than he should have.

 

* * *

 

“Why can't we arrest the mother? She knew what her husband was doing to their daughter, and she let it happen!” Magnus had asked Lisa earlier, but she has shaken her head. Her explanation had enraged him. He did not know why, did not want to know, but this affected him more than the rest. That woman, the art dealer’s wife, should have protected her daughter! How could she stay with a man like that, accept it, act as if she knew nothing, turned a blind eye, when he was… to their child...? Was money and status that important? Could she have loved that monster? An incestuous child molester? More than her own child?

Who would that angry, abused girl grow up to be? Could she ever heal, now that the bastard was dead? No brother, no sister, no-one but a mother who had chosen not to protect her? Who could she trust in this world?

He cut a piece of meat as if he could pour all his anger into the act. He did not even taste his dinner. The telly was playing in the background, a soft, drowsing noise. His phone rang and he growled but picked it up. At least, tonight, he was happy to go back to work.

 

* * *

 

“What the...”

He looked at the screen and frowned. It was even worse than he thought, and a father abusing his daughter was already more than enough. He gritted his teeth, reaching for his phone. It rang for a while before Kurt's voice answered, barely audible above the noise of his car.

“Yeah.”

“Kurt, we got some information on Fredman coming through that I think you should see.”

Only silence answered, silence and the noise of the car, and Magnus could not help feeling worried.

“Kurt?”

“What is it?”

“Friedman was arrested seven years ago and….”

“What?”

“I said...”

“Magnus, I can't hear you. I'm on my way.”

Then he hang up. Magnus sighed and put his phone back into his pocket. He exchanged a look with Kalle.

“I can't believe they all got away with it,” he said, looking back at the screen. A paedophiles ring. Monsters. “Well, until the Indian Warrior decided to scalp them anyway.”

He added _Good Man!_ in his head, but knew better than saying it aloud.

“Native American,” Kalle corrected distractedly and Magnus nodded.

“He and his “psychic borderland”” he added, pressing his lips together in a light grin. Kalle ignored him.

Soon after, Wallander joined them and they showed him their findings. As he leaned over his shoulder to show him Fredman's files – Kurt was rather hopeless with computers – Magnus could smell cold sweat and musk on him. He wondered how long it had been since Kurt last showered, or ate something.

But the case came first, and, as always, Kurt took no time to stop.

 

* * *

 

“Kurt! You need to do this properly!” Lisa's voice resonated through the Station and Magnus looked up from his report, seeing the older man crossing the room, Anne-Britt and Lisa hot on his trail.

“The sex-worker,” Kalle explained as he passed by his desk, “she's recognized Sandin.”

The retired dirty cop. Finally, they had him! Magnus jumped out of his seat, grabbing his jacket and rushing after them.

“You can't go there on your own!” Lisa was saying, and, for a brief moment, he felt bad than nobody was listening to her, but it was over quickly as he followed Kalle to the parking.

“Sandin has to be gone. He must have known we'd find out eventually,” he said, as Kalle drove as fast as he knew how. “He must have fled just after Kurt's visit.”

Kalle grunted something in reply he did not understand.

They arrived just in time to stop the dirty cop from fleeing his property.

“He's still here? What an idiot,” Magnus marvelled, quickly exiting the car and walking to Sandin's, gun in hand, to force him out of it. He pushed him against the door and, holstering his gun, grabbed his handcuffs.

“You okay?” He called to Kurt as the man watched from a distance.

Kurt nodded, jaws clenched. He saw him get his phone out and brought his attention back to Sandin, who was trembling like a leaf. Parkinson, possibly. Not nearly enough of a punishment for what that bastard had done. He read him his rights in a low voice, ignoring the bile the dirty cop was vengefully spouting, until he heard:

“You miserable idiots!”

“Funny, I just thought the same thing about you,” he gritted, pulling him up roughly toward the back of one of their cars. He forced him down on the back seat just as two ambulances arrived. He followed them with his eyes, confused, a bit worried, until he saw Kurt, Kalle and Anne-Britt coming out of the house, helping young foreign girls – obviously in shock and ill-treated – down the stairs.

“Who are they?” He asked Sandin and the man shrugged with a smug smirk, as if he knew his answer was going to make the young detective ill. “Just a bit of fun. Trash, really.”

Magnus had to stop himself from punching him.

He turned away.

He knew Kurt suspected Dolorès had been a victim of that circle. Had she been with those poor girls? Locked up in that Hell of a house?

As his colleagues took care of the victims, he went down to the basement. He needed to see. The smell was horrid and the room they had been held in felt like death, like terror and pain. He looked around until something caught his eyes. He crouched next to one of the makeshift bed to look closer at a worn out thin yellow scarf. He took it and unfolded it. It still smelled faintly of vanilla and it had a bird on it. It was listed as one of the clothes Dolorès was wearing when she disappeared. He remembered each word from that report. He pressed his forehead against his hands and closed his eyes. He imagine the girl, laughing, the scarf around her neck, next to her father.

What a waste.

He took the scarf and left.

 

* * *

 

Louise Friedman's diary between Kurt's hands looked like the scarf had felt in his. The detective's voice was soft, sorrowful as he told them about the “Indian Warrior”, just a kid, a kid who had been beaten like his little brother, a kid with an abused sister he wanted to save. The profiler showed again how infinitely useful he was at stating the obvious but Magnus ignored him. He had to repress the urge to press his superior's hand in silent comfort.

They knew Sandin was to be the kid's the next target and they knew they needed a bait. They did not even need to discuss it, as Lisa and Kurt led them to the cells. Magnus wanted nothing more than strangle the bastard with the scarf he still had in his pocket. Let him feel a fraction of the pain Dolorès had felt, watch him die, squeeze his wretched life out of him…

He tore himself away from the disturbing fantasy.

“You can't do that,” Sandin protested as soon as he understood what they wanted of him, “I'm your prisoner, I'm in your custody. You're responsible for me, Wallander.”

He was right to be worried, Magnus thought with a vengeance. Letting the kid finish the job was ever so tempting. Dolorès' eyes appeared in his mind and he had to close his own for a second.

“You were police,” Kurt said, voice deadly calm, “a fifteen year old girl burnt herself in front of me because I told her I was police. She thought I was like you.”

Like him. Kurt was so far from Sandin they should not even be mentioned in the same sentence, Magnus thought, clenching his fists inside his coat pockets, the soft scarf strangely rough against his knuckles.

“That maniac puts an axe through my skull by God you'll pay!” the man spat and Magnus smirked grimly. Right. As if the man could get revenge from the deep bowels of Hell that were waiting for him.

“Well, I'm willing to take that risk,” Lisa said wryly. She nodded to Magnus and he pulled Sandin up, once again handcuffing him, once again wanting badly to beat him into a pulp.

 

* * *

 

As he released Sandin inside his house, the man smirked at him again. “You think you're so different from me, don't you, boy,” he said in a low voice so only Magnus could hear him. “Think again. In a few years time...”

Magnus snapped the handcuff off roughly and walked away, passing by Kurt who was looking at Sandin with a strange mixture of anger, contempt and sadness. Then they closed the door.

It would be so easy to look the other way just this once...

“Can't we just...” Magnus started as they made their way to their respective position.

He stopped as he felt Kurt's sudden iron grip on his forearm. He looked at the man and was taken aback by how fierce he looked. Almost desperate.

“Don't finish that sentence,” his superior warned, in a low, meaningful tone, “don't even think it!”

Magnus swallowed at the storm in Kurt's eyes and nodded. “Okay. Sorry. I didn't mean...”

Kurt let go of him abruptly. “Go to your post.”

He nodded again and hurried to the trees.

 

* * *

 

The vigil was long and Magnus was tense. He could not forget how Kurt had looked at him earlier, how sharp his gaze had been, directed at him, full of intent.

He shivered. It was not even that cold, but he felt tension running in his spine and muscles.

Finally, he saw the boy slip inside. He warned Wallander and ran to join him. Before they could enter, he heard the distinct noise of the axe biting the flesh. His supervisor went in without his gun, against all regulation, hand reaching for the boy.

Good grief!

Magnus followed and immediately pointed his gun at the perp, making sure Kurt was not his target, but his superior ordered him to lower his weapon at once. He obeyed hesitantly, as did the others, but he could feel how on edge the boy, Stefan Friedman, was. How dangerous.

The boy did not relent when Kurt pleaded with him.

“I have to free her soul! I have to punish them!”

He was too far gone, Magnus thought, deeply uneasy. He did not so much mind what could happen to Sandin, despite Kurt's warning, but the boy could still turn on them...

“They will be punished,” Kurt tried again, soft, caring, “please… give me the axe.”

The kid looked at Magnus then, at his still lowered gun, then in his eyes and Magnus knew, right there and then, that whatever Kurt was trying to do would not work.

“What would you do?” Stefan asked and it was unclear if he was asking Magnus or Kurt. “You think this man's life is worth more than mine? More than my sister's?”

 _No_ , Magnus thought bitterly, _no I don't think so_.

But it was Kurt who replied.

“No-one deserves to die,” he said with quiet conviction, “Stefan… No-one.”

Magnus felt a powerful surge of tenderness gripping his chest but in a flash, the boy took his decision and a shot rang through the house.

Kurt had fired with impeccable precision.

Magnus went to see if Sandin was alive – the bastard was, cockroaches always survived – and looked over at Anne-Britt, who pronounced the kid okay.

He took Sandin's arm and helped him up.

A young girl had made her way inside the room. Her haunted eyes were the first thing he saw, then her dishevelled look, how lost she seemed. Kurt went to her after putting his gun on a table, mindless of any regulation, as always.

Magnus took it in passing and handed it back to him outside. Kurt did not say anything but nodded in thanks, holding the girl gently against his chest. Louise Friedman’s mind did not seem there at all.

 

* * *

 

“That was risky.” Magnus said softly, as they watched the ambulances leaving with Sandin in one, Louise and Stefan in the other, all under solid guard. “What you did back there.”

“You think I should have shot him right away,” Kurt's voice almost died at the end.

“No, that's not… what I meant.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Kurt cut him and walked away, climbing into his car and driving off without waiting for Anne-Britt.

It had felt uncomfortably like a farewell, despite the words, and Magnus swallowed heavily.

That night, he had trouble falling asleep. He turned and tossed in his bed, unable to think of anything else than Dolorès and Louise… and Kurt.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Kurt called Magnus into his office immediately when he arrived. He glanced at Anne-Britt but she shrugged.

“Close the door,” Wallander said as soon as he had stepped in. He obeyed and sat down in front of his superior, leaning back on his seat, trying to review the day before, wondering if he had done anything that would warrant Kurt's attention.

“Magnus,” he started, looking into the younger man's eyes steadily, “I've already seen policemen become so angry and bitter, so violent their rage led them either to dishonourable discharge or the bottle. Often to both. Sometimes even to prison.”

Magnus frowned, shifting in his seat a little, joining his hand between his spread legs.

“I don't want you to become one of them,” Kurt said.

He extended a hand, palm up. Magnus looked at it, then back at Kurt's eyes, not understanding. Suddenly, it came to him and he turned his eyes away. How did Kurt even know about...?

He reached down into his coat's pocket and took out the scarf, caressing it with his thumb, feeling the rough touch of used fabric and dirt. He pressed his lips, hesitating, before surrendering and slamming it into Kurt's hand. His superior opened one of his desk's drawers and put it inside, closing it before looking back at him.

“You need to let go. You're a good man, Magnus,” he said more gently Magnus had ever heard him talk to him, “and you're still able to feel excited about this job. Don't lose that. Don't become like me.”

Magnus blinked, his eyes taking in the huge rings bellow his superior's eyes, the weariness, the pallor of his rounded face. He thought about what he had just said for a moment. How he had wanted Sandin dead for what he had done. How easy it would have been to let the kid kill him.

What a blunder it would have been for them, how damning for a kid who was already in deep trouble because a life of pain and horror had led him to commit the worst.

How Sandin would suffer far worse than death if he was convicted, and he probably would be, with no-one left to protect him.

It would have been worth nothing at all to kill him. Worst, what would that have made him? Them?

“Can you?” He asked softly and Kurt frowned, waiting for him to explain. “Let go,” he finally added after a few moment.

Kurt had seen her died, had heard her screams. How strong this man's principles had to be, for him to plead for Sandin's life even after witnessing all of this!

Kurt's answer took a while to come. He had leaned back on his chair and was looking somewhere behind Magnus.

“No,” he said at last. “But taking a bloody revenge wouldn’t change that. Dolorès’ still dead. Louise is still dying inside and the other girls' pain would still be there. Sandin has a right to a trial, as does any of us. How can we take the moral high ground if we choose who lives and who dies? Redemption is never completely out of reach.”

“Even for the like of Sandin? Of Carlman? After what he did to his daughter?”

Kurt took a deep breath and his eyes showed how exhausted he was. “Do you think their victims would heal faster with them dead? Our work is to bring them to face their crimes, not to take their life in retaliation. And certainly not to let a kid bear the blame. What kind of persons would that make us? What kind of a world would it be?”

Magnus looked down.

“Have you ever...?”

Killed someone? Kurt did not need him to finish the sentence to understand.

“No. And I pray everyday that I'll never have to. Nor you. Any of you.”

His voice was low but fierce. Magnus did not know if Kurt was religious or if it was a figure of speech. In any case, his gun felt suddenly heavier in his holster. It had always felt good to him, to be armed, to know how to use it. A feeling of power, of certainty. The arm of the law.

It still felt like this, but it unsettled him Kurt could see things differently, could find Magnus' point of view repulsive. He glanced up. His supervisor was still watching him, but there was something gentle in his expression. Kind. An understanding, perhaps. But he also looked dead on his feet.

“Kurt… Are you okay?” He finally thought to ask.

A shadow passed over his superior's eyes and he looked away for a few seconds. Then he stood up and took a few step, gently tapping Magnus' shoulder as he passed.

“Don't worry. And stop slouching with your legs spread like that. You look like a pornstar.”

That forced a small, surprised laugh out of Magnus. Kurt smiled and left.

 

* * *

 

The next few cases were fairly usual. He was often paired up with Kalle, but they seldom spoke of anything other than work. It seemed that Kalle became more and more withdrawn to the point that even Magnus noticed, but he was at loss about what to say or do about it. He liked Kalle well enough, but the man was mostly an enigma to him. He was knowledgeable on a wide range of subject and very professional, yet, somehow, Magnus felt he was missing something. They spoke of Kurt, though, fairly often.

They had a few work outings, mostly to talk about their cases. It did not stop Magnus from worrying about Kurt. Stefan Fredman's case had been a turning point in that respect, the young detective knew. From that moment on, the simple intellectual assessment of what Kurt was had morphed into something more emotionally tangled. He found himself looking at his supervisor often, trying to assess if he was fine. Around the same time, things definitely turned south with his on again-off again girlfriend of six months, Kristen, and they decided to finally end it. He could not even bring himself to feel sad about it.

A few weeks later, as the Station's entire IT system was being renewed, the senseless stabbing of a taxi driver by two teenage girls became the talk of the office. It was Kurt's and Anne-Britt's case, but it soon became obvious they would need the full squad on it.

Or would have, if a man had not had a heart attack in front of a cash-machine and Magnus and Kalle had not somehow ended up with it. Not that any crime had been committed, but Kurt had seen the body and inquired. Svedberg was searching for living relatives as best he could with their computers, servers and internet connection periodically down.

Kurt had been exasperated by the whole process, especially when Magnus showed him his new “office”. As adorable as a grumpy Kurt could be, the younger man knew this could turn sour very easily and tried to convinced him it would be worth it. For his part, he could not wait for the new system to be installed. He had almost cried with relief when Lisa had said they were finally getting it. He was fed up with the constant lagging, the crashes and the hours spent trying to get a decent print or scan. Ever since he had had the not so brilliant idea to tell Kurt he was rather good with computer – had even spent a year studying computer engineering before joining the Academy – he was tasked with everything connected to a keyboard, from research, to maintenance, to general emailing when Ebba could not take it on. Him and his big mouth, once again. It was annoying enough being the unofficial IT guy without having to deal with inefficient tools.

Plus they really needed to digitalize all the written archives. It was a mess.

He winced when Kurt dropped one of said heavy files someone had left on his desk on the floor. They definitely needed that on the servers. If they did not lose any important document during the transfer, they would be lucky. He was about to turn and go fetch Anne-Britt as ordered, but could not help but eavesdropping on Wallander's phone-call. It was Linda and listening to Kurt talking to his daughter was one of the best ways to know how he was. He chose a file at random and tried to make it look like he was reading intently.

Good thing he did too, since a few second later, Kurt asked him to check his computer. The thing was open on the BIOS. How even…

Lisa came in briefly, ignoring Kurt's complaints, to tell them the stabbed taxi driver had died, quickly followed by Kalle, who seemed to think there was something fishy about the heart-attack-guy. Just another day at the office then.

“Magnus, check with the pathologist, will you?”

Sure, he nodded, easy enough as long as…

“And dig around around a bit, there might be something...”

Dig around? Magnus thought, bewildered. For a heart-attack?

“Dig around what?” Shit, that was his outer voice.

“His life, Magnus, the thing he just lost,” Kurt snapped.

He signed inwardly and glanced at the file before looking at Kalle, who shrugged. “You heard the man,” he said.

“But it's a heart-attack! We have a murder on our hand, never mind those bloody computers!”

“Yeah, well, the killers are in custody anyway. They're not going anywhere.”

As it turned out, Svedberg was wrong.

The lead stabbing girl, Sonya, escaped and Kurt was downright furious. The whole Station was under fire. Magnus tried to work on the heart-attack through it all. He checked with Nyberg, then with the insurance company and their pathologist. It became increasingly certain Kurt and Kalle were onto something, as annoyed as it made him to admit it. He reported to Kurt and saw his supervisor was determined to see it through.

But he refused when Magnus asked if he could come with him. Again. Sometimes, Magnus wondered if Kurt had really registered he was more than just the office boy. He clenched his fingers on the file to try and calm himself. Rationally, he knew that was not true, but dammit, he wanted to…

To what? Prove himself? Work more closely with Kurt? What?

He shook his head and went back to his desk. Midsummer’s Eve, and they were still working. By 8.20pm, Kurt was out of the door, which was unusual, especially considering Sonya's boyfriend had vanished. Magnus stayed to liaise with the patrol.

Around 9.00, just as he was finishing one of his reports on a closed case, the power shut down. He almost screamed in frustration.

Of course, when their own generator took over, everything was gone. An all-nighter it was going to be then.

 

* * *

 

They had found Sonya, dead, and Magnus still had to work at the Station. Kurt came back in around 10 in the evening, passing him by and putting a hand on his shoulder distractedly. Magnus looked up at him but he was already gone into his office. He heard some faint noises, then nothing. After two hours, he got up, poured two mugs of coffee and knocked lightly on his supervisor' door.

“Come in,” Kurt's voice invited, muffled and low.

He slipped in and looked at his superior. Kurt was slouched on his chair, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Magnus. What are you still doing here?”

Magnus grinned.

“I have a report to write, for the Nordin case, you know, the serial shoplifter? Lots of complaints, lots of paperwork. I was almost finished when the power went out. I lost everything, so I have to type it all over again.”

He put the mug next to Kurt's hand and the man looked up at him with a… fond smile? And a soft “Thanks”.

“Plus I thought someone should stand by, in case we heard anything about the boy, Jonas. His parents called again, they are really worried now, and with Sonya dead...”

Kurt nodded approvingly.

“What about you?” Magnus could not help but ask. “Shouldn't you be home?”

The older man did not reply, sipping his coffee slowly. Magnus let the matter drop and leaned against the desk, enjoying his coffee and the companionable silence.

“Don't you have a girlfriend to go home to?”

Magnus' eyes opened in surprise. He had not expected Kurt to talk, especially to ask him something like that. It took him a few second to collect his thoughts and put them in a proper order.

“No. Not any more. Not that she lived with me anyway, but… yeah... Just me, I'm afraid. It makes things easier, somehow.”

Kurt looked sad for a moment.

“Don't let yourself be eaten by the job, Magnus,” he said softly, gentle, almost. “You're young.”

“You're not exactly old yourself, Kurt.”

“Aren't I?” Kurt leaned back on his chair, looking up at him. He had never looked old, to Magnus. Tired, yes. Exhausted by life and the toll it had taken on him, by the job and the horrors he witnessed, certainly. But not old. He shook his head. Kurt chuckled, but it sounded hollow. “Tynnes Falk was 47 when he died. Just a year older than me.”

“He died of a heart attack, that could happen to anyone. Or you're right and he was poisoned somehow, which means he could have died at any given age.”

“I never said he was poisoned.”

“But you think he might have been.”

Kurt chuckled. “Go home, Magnus. I'll hold the fort.”

Magnus made a moue, squinting slightly with good humour. “I think not. I have a report to write. I'll see you later.”

He knew Kurt would most likely fall asleep in his office. Sure enough, when he came by at 2, Kurt was fast asleep, almost falling from his chair. He woke him up gently and helped him to the couch as best he could. The man resumed sleeping right away and Magnus chuckled to himself, lifting his legs so he would not be in too bad a position. The couch was too small either way, but it seemed futile to argue with Kurt on the matter of going home. He left the office silently, with one last look, part worried part fond, at the sleeping form.

 

* * *

 

Around 8am, he went to shower and change before coming back up only to catch the morgue on the phone.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, once the morgue employee had explained why he was calling.

“The heart-attack, Tynnes Falk. His body's disappeared.”

“Disappeared? How? He didn't walk out by himself, did he?”

He knew the joke was a bad one, but he was honestly too tired and too bewildered not to make it. An annoyed silence was his only reply.

“Okay, I'll tell Detective Wallander. We'll be around shortly.”

Kurt looked awful, but then again, he could not see how he could have looked any better with the night he must have had. This time, he did not leave any choice to his supervisor on the matter of following him and more to the point, driving him. It would not do for Kurt to fall asleep at the wheel.

The pathologist had the same brand of humour Nyberg did and Magnus would probably have found his body joke “they tend to stay put” funny, if it were not for Kurt's exasperated sigh… and the fact that Magnus' case seemed to have literally walked out on him.

He watched as Kurt investigated, admiring his precise moves and quick mind at work.

“The power cut,” he marvelled, as Kurt showed him silently how stealing the body was done. The big power cut. From the Station they had found Sonya's body in. “What? Sonya's murder…? No, that's crazy! That was a completely different case!”

“Not any more,” Kurt denied firmly.

 

* * *

 

“I don't understand,” he confesses as he drove them back to the Station. “What's the connection?”

Kurt hummed softly. “I'm not sure yet. But Sonya's murder was used as a camouflage to hide the theft of Falk's body.”

“As if someone was… what? Cleaning up?” he asked, glancing at his superior. Kurt was looking at the street, facing away from him.

“Possibly.”

“That seems rather far fetched.”

“That's because we're missing something.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the Station, Magnus opened both case files and spread them on a table, looking down at the pictures. He pressed his left fingers to his forehead, trying to see the missing link Kurt had mentioned. But it did not make sense.

“Surely it's just a coincidence,” he said eventually, turning to Kurt. Seeing the man's firm stance, he knew Kurt did not believe that any more than Magnus did.

“Where did Falk live?” his supervisor asked and he thought for a second.

“Klostargatan, I think. I'll get a search warrant sorted. It'll take a day, obviously, but...”

“We haven't got a day,” Kurt cut him and Magnus licked his lips, knowing what was coming. “Would you just give me the address and please, would you look at my computer? Malmstrom sent me an email about Falk's autopsy… I haven't got it. Is it the computer or is it me?”

The way he asked made Magnus smiled with sudden fondness. He went to sit on Kurt's chair and opened his mailbox, quickly checking his trash-bin and spam-box. Nothing. Nothing in any of his mailboxes either.

“Strange,” he said, looking up. “When did you say she sent it?”

“Er, I think it must have been last night.”

Magnus went back a few hours, finding only one email dating from the night before. The sender was unfamiliar, so he opened it, just in case. A picture of a woman with a beautiful smile appeared. Ella Lindfeldt was said above the message. The content – “20.15 sounds very good… See you later.” – left little to imagination as to what it was actually about.

“Huh,” he smiled.

“What?” his superior asked, coming over.

“Nice,” he commented, once again speaking before thinking.

Fuck. Kurt narrowed his eyes.

Just like that, teasing him became far too tempting.

“Em. Is she a friend of yours?” he asked, cheekily.

“Okay, Magnus, yes, that's fine, I can sort it,” Kurt rambled grouchily, showing him out of the chair.

“Yeah,” the young man approved, smirking to himself with mirth. “What about Malmstrom's email?”

“I'll… I'll… manage,” Kurt rambled on, “just, er, if you could get me Falk's address, that'd… be great?”

“Right,” Magnus said, eyes laughing.

“Thanks.” Kurt was not even looking at him any more.

“Yeah,” and he turned on his heels, leaving the man alone to his blushing. Before he walked out the door, he glanced back at Kurt's crouched form with a soft smile. It was good, was it not, that Kurt was seeing somebody? But he felt slightly bereft all the same. He ignored the feeling and went to fetch Falk's address, knowing he would once again enable his supervisor' blatant breaking of protocols and regulations.

When he came back with it, Wallander was gone. He hesitated for a second, putting the note on his desk, then, looking around swiftly, he sat down and turn on the screen, checking the mailbox. Sure enough, there was another message from “Ella”. His curiosity won and he took a quick look, shushing his conscience, before closing everything down and walking out of the room. So, coffee, eh? Second date, after a fiasco of a first one, apparently.

He weirdly wished he could see it, could see what Kurt looked like outside of the job, relaxed, even... romantic, perhaps...

He shook his head, chasing the thought. Lunch. He should have lunch and stop thinking about Kurt's date.

 

* * *

 

After a quick sandwich nearby, he sat down at the Station for a coffee with his colleagues. Nyberg had joined them and the topic was, unsurprisingly, Kurt Wallander. In their defence, they had already gone through this week's gossips for the whole Station. Plus, they were genuinely worried about Kurt, Magnus knew. Especially Anne-Britt, who had seen Kurt first thing this morning, “fresh” out of his office couch night.

“Inga tried to call him earlier this week and he didn't reply,” she said, raising her knees up against her chest and lounging more comfortably on the chair.”I think it's really not going well.”

Kalle sighed and Sven shook his head. “A real messy divorce.”

Magnus did not say anything. At first. Then his mouth got the better of him again. “He's seeing someone,” he said with a grin “at this very moment.”

“What?” Kalle asked quickly, frowning.

Magnus shrugged, savouring the feeling of having all their eyes on him. “Well, at the very least, they're out on a date. He's subscribed to a dating website and...”

“A dating website? Kurt?” Interrupted Anne-Brit, disbelieving.

“Hm hm. I saw her email. She's called Ella and she's very pretty.”

“You opened his email?” Anne-Britt was trying to sound indignant, but it was covered by Nyberg getting his laptop out and opening it on the table. “Okay this I have to see. What was the name of the website?”

Magnus gave it to him and watched as the other man searched for it. “I think you need your own profile to be able to see the others,” the blond pointed out but Nyberg shrugged “I know that website, I've got an old account on it.” They all looked at him. “What? I don't have the right to feel lonely too? You know most people I meet through my job are dead, right?”

That earned him a few laughs.

He entered his login and password and clicked on the search bar, typing “Kurt Wallander” quickly. They all assembled around him to look. “Oh my God, look at that picture,” Anne-Britt said with a smile, “he looks adorable!”

“'I'm driven and intellectual.” Magnus read quietly to himself, “I enjoy life, and I love opera and a glass of fine red wine. I am an honest and tender guy, with a steady job and a stable life, looking for a new spring in life.'”

Nyberg laughed out loud. “'Looking for a new spring in life'. Now, that, that's pure gold! Can't believe he actually wrote that.”

“'You have an inquisitive mind,” Anne-Britt took over to read the part about the ideal partner, “but an orderly life. You are active and show me new sides of life, show me places I might not have gone to otherwise. You appreciate a good conversation and a pleasant evening together. Come as you are.' That's beautiful… and very Kurt. I didn't think he had it in him.”

“'We shall see'” Kalle muttered.

“What?” asked Anne-Britt, turning to look at him.

Magnus had seen it too, but said nothing. Kalle did, however.

“There, at 'Interested in:' he did not specify 'women'. He wrote “we shall see”.”

“Oh,” Anne-Britt looked where he pointed. “Right. Still, it's Kurt we're talking about.”

“So?” Magnus could not help but ask.

“Well, he was married. To a woman, I mean.”

“That doesn't mean he only likes women.”

“Yeah, well,” Anne-Britt looked a bit embarrassed for a moment, then quickly asked: “What about the woman who's contacted him?”

“Ella Lindfeldt, I think,” Magnus said.

But before they had time to check her out, Lisa came around from her office and looked at them pointedly. They all obediently went back to work.

Still, the “we shall see” kept haunting Magnus' thoughts.

 

* * *

 

“Kurt's not back yet?” Lisa asked Magnus while the young detective was finishing setting up the new system on her computer. He shrugged. “I haven't seen him yet, no.”

“There's a note from you on his desk, when did he leave?”

The address. Huh. He should probably phone his supervisor to give it to him. He looked at the time. 2.45. Gosh. That was one long lunch break, especially for Kurt. She must be an interesting one.

“Around 1 o'clock, I think,” he replied to Lisa. “I'm not sure. I'll give him a call.”

He was about to leave her office when her voice stopped him.

“I see you've put in a request for a search warrant for Tynnes Falk's apartment.”

It was not a question, but he nodded anyway, half turning around to look at her.

“You know it's not going to come in before tomorrow morning at the soonest?”

He nodded again, unsure where this was going.

“So I'll assume you've copied his address and put it on Kurt's desk just to save time tomorrow, then?”

Oh. He licked his lips. Lisa was not a fool and she knew Kurt. He shrugged lightly. The Chief of Police sighed, looking resigned.

“Just tell him to be careful, will you? I don't want another scandal connected to the Station in the wake of Sonya's escape.”

He nodded once more and left, going to sit at his desk and reaching for his phone. After a few rings, Kurt answered.

“I'm not interrupted anything, am I?” he asked cheekily and smirked when he heard Kurt's annoyed sigh.

“No.”

“Listen, Falk's address, it's apartment 1, 6 Klostargatan.”

He paused, considering.

“But there's still no search warrant,” he finally warned, knowing it would fall on a deaf ear.

“Understood,” Kurt replied anyway, “I'm on my way there now.”

“Kurt, Lisa said...”

But it was useless, his supervisor had already hung up.

 

* * *

 

Despite the new elements on Sonya's past – her rape by the driver’s son and how the driver covered it up – they still had no clue on her connection to Falk and his – what? Murder? They still did not know how the guy died. What they did know was why Sonya wanted to attack that taxi guy specifically. But not why she had done so so long after being assaulted. Magnus was reviewing every element of the case they had and still found nothing of value. He was about to give up and go for yet another cup of coffee when the call came.

“Kurt's been shot,” he thought he heard and, for a moment, the whole world froze and his heart stopped. He turned to Lisa so quickly he almost lost his balance.

“What?” He croaked, cutting her in her instructions to two uniforms. She looked at him for a second, then shook her head quickly. “He's fine, they missed him. He's at Falk's apartment and...”

Magnus did not listen to the rest and turned on his heels to grab his jacket on his way out. “Nyberg's on his way,” Lisa called after him. He nodded to himself and caught up with their resident expert, getting in the car with him.

“He's all right, isn't he?” He couldn't help but ask Nyberg.

The man reassured him with a tilt of his head. “The perp's fled the scene, but Kurt's unarmed. Don't know the specifics. He sounded shaken on the phone though.”

They made it to Klostargatan at record speed. The whole trip felt a little surreal to Magnus, and the world started moving again only when he was finally able to see Kurt, blessedly whole, leaning heavily against the wall, talking with one of their uniforms. He sighed in relief and let Nyberg pass to go examine the bullet hole. Kurt followed him and he watched from afar as they spoke. He did not join them. Frankly, he did not wish Kurt's vigilant eyes to see how affected he was.

He could hear them though.

Kurt had tripped. He was alive only because he had tripped on that bloody, fucking brilliant piece of carpet. Magnus did not know how he felt about that. The strength of his reaction to the whole event surprised him, now that he had time to think about it. Nyberg left to examine the place the shooter was standing and Kurt entered another room. He seemed… shaken. Magnus took a deep breath and went after him. He found his supervisor leaning back on a desk, obviously distraught.

“Kurt,” he called softly and the man looked up at him, blue-grey eyes dull and scared, “are you okay?” He looked anything but.

The man sighed a soft “yeah” and lowered his head.

When he raised it again, his eyes were sharp anew and Magnus could see his inquisitive mind had managed to overcome his fear. He listened as Kurt told him of the missing notebook and its content. Another thing that did not make sense in a long list of things that did not make sense. The missing picture was a clearer clue as to whom might have taken it.

“Should we ask Falk's ex-wife?”

The older man shook his head and straightened up. “I'll do that, stay with Nyberg, try to find what those cash machine references might be about.”

“Kurt, I don't think you should dri...” He trailed off when he saw the look Kurt was giving him. “Alright. As you say.”

 

* * *

 

“… And that's where they found Falk's body,” Kalle finished and Magnus made a noise of surprised into his phone, distractedly.

“Don't tell me he swam back on his own?” He asked, watching the worker he had called tried to cut into the iron-barred door to Falk's basement.

“Very funny, Martinsson. No, and he would have had trouble doing it anyway, he's got no hands and no feet. Someone hacked them off. This case is becoming weirder and weirder. Have you found anything on the cash machine?”

“No. There's one where we found his body the first time, but they say it's fairly ordinary. I'm waiting for Lars to be done with Falk's basement door, see if our errand corpse has more secrets for us to find. Have you told Kurt about the body?”

“Yeah. He's meeting me here with Anne-Britt. I guess I'll see you later. Be careful, though. Those secrets seem deadly.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine.” Magnus took a few steps back towards the stairs “You, make sure Falk doesn't crawl away into a field next time or something.”

“Ahahah. What would we do without our resident clown?” was the sarcastic reply and he grinned widely. Then Kalle hang up and he went back to his waiting.

Around forty five minutes later, Kalle and Kurt joined him just as the door finally gave in. He put a hand on his gun, carefully making his was inside first. If someone was to be shot at, he would rather it be him than Kurt this time.

The place was damp, barely lit, but obviously empty. He let go of his gun and took a good look at the three computers set on a simple table. They looked out of place, and the software running… he had never seen the like before. “Jesus,” he mumbled.

“Jonas Landahl,” Kurt said, “Sonya's boyfriend. He had exactly the same set up.”

“This got to be the link between Sonya and Falk, isn't it?” Kalle asked.

But the link to what, Magnus thought, sitting down and grabbing the mouse. He did not recognise any of the lines of code he saw and as soon as he clicked, the screens froze.

“What did I do,” he mumbled, horrified, as an “Authenticate” screen appeared.

Fuck. He had screwed up again, had he not? He tried the keyboard, but nothing seemed to work. He passed a hand in his curly hair, frustrated already, because he knew, he just knew he was not going to be able to solve this.

“Look,” he said nonetheless, “I'm sorry, but it could take me weeks to crack into something like this.”

If at all, he added silently. It did not matter, Kurt had obviously another idea, and, frankly, while it hurt his pride, he was relieved. His supervisor left them without explaining his plan, as always, and after a while, Kalle left too to go back to the Station.

Magnus was left to stare at the uncooperative screens alone.

Fucking Falk and his fucking computers!

 

* * *

 

Kurt came back with a nerdish looking teenager whose arrogant smile started annoying Magnus from about the minute he walked in.

The kid took Magnus' place and the blond stood next to Kurt, crossing his arms. He could not help feeling slighted by how useless he was. Especially after telling his team he was good with computers.

The kid solved the authentication problem, rather quickly too, the little shit.

His mood did not improve when Kurt ordered him to get the boy, Robert, anything he wanted. Bloody office boy to an adolescent he could already tell was going to be a pain in his backside.

He puffed and Kurt gave him a look. He pressed his lips and nodded.

“They think they've found the boyfriend's body,” Wallander muttered before leaving quickly.

“Ooh, great,” Magnus replied to himself.

“Foot long, please. Chicken. Double mayo. And cookies.”

Magnus closed his eyes, counted to ten, and went up to fetch the food.

 

* * *

 

“I bet it annoys you to be stuck here with me,” the kid said and Magnus looked heavenward, “especially since your supervisor is out on a date right now.”

“Don't you have a job to do?” he asked tersely.

Was Kurt really on yet another date with Ella? Three times in as many days? And how did the boy knew?

“I can multi-task. It actually helps. Don't you have a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend?” Magnus repeated, astonished.

“Yeah, boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever. You just look more the boyfriend type, that's all.”

“You think I look gay?”

“Hey, man, I'm not judging okay? I like boys too.”

“So what, that's you hitting on me, is it?” Magnus asked before thinking.

For shame, when would he learn to stop that fucking mouth of his from running fucking havoc?!

The youth turned on his seat to gave him a long, appraising look.

“Well, you're pretty fucking gorgeous,” he said with a confident smirk, “but I don't want to end up in cuffs for hitting on a policeman on duty.”

“Never mind that I am far too old for you.”

“Hey, man, I'm 17, I'm not a baby! What are you, 25, 28?”

He had the gall to wink at Magnus.

“I note you don't deny the boyfriend part though.”

“Just crack that thing, will you!”

“Okay, gorgeous, if you go and get me a coke.”

God, he hated that kid!

 

* * *

 

When he came back with the drinks – he had taken his time just to get away from the kid for a minute – Kurt was there and he heard the end of their conversation. He looked at the screen and immediately knew what this was about. Total disruption of the international financial system. But it was… unreal. Impossible. Nothing of that scale could be programmed from a few computers in Ystad, Sweden. Yet…

Three hours before massive chaos. The perps, at least, were convinced it was going to work, enough so they had killed to protect their plan and probably would again.

They needed to find Kristian Suneson before he could put said plan into action. His annoyance with the kid, Robert, forgotten, he sat next to him, trying as best he could to help him localise the trigger to the whole viral attack.

“Nobody's going to believe this.” he commented grimly.

They spent another half an hour working. Then the kid froze all of the sudden.

“Something wrong?” Magnus asked, looking up.

“I… I just need a bit of fresh air, that's all.”

Magnus looked at the boy's screen, but Robert had turned it off.

“We don't really have time,” he reminded him, but the kid sent him a pleadingly look. He sighed. “Okay, let's go.”

He had turned his back on Robert barely a minute to check his messages, but the boy was fast. Once he looked up, he was gone. Magnus ran in the street, looking around desperately, but there was no trace of the fleeing adolescent.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He took out his phone and called Kurt “Modin's gone, Kurt! He ran away!” he said as soon as his supervisor answered. He did not even wait for a reply and rushed down the stairs to turn on the laptop's screen.

He gritted his teeth and dropped his head back with a swear when he read “Robert Modin, you have been traced”.

Fuck!

 

* * *

 

He felt completely wretched as he quickly explained the situation to Kurt, who tried to calm him down with a few words. The message was gone from the screen, but Magnus remembered it with perfect clarity.

Kurt rushed off as soon as he heard it and Magnus was left there, knowing it would be useless to follow him, feeling like the lowest of the low. If, by any amount of incredible bad luck, the cell's plan happened to be worth something and they managed to put it into place because he lost track of a fucking kid… he would never forgive himself.

And even if it did not, but Modin died because of his lack of attention…

Fuck!

He prayed Kurt would perform yet another feat of talent.

But how could they have found Modin? He assumed the kid knew what he was doing. Hackers against one kid hacker, yes, but so quickly?

He frowned, getting up. He could not leave the computer Station unguarded, yet…

There was something at the edge of his mind. Something important. Some connection that needed to be made.

 

* * *

 

His phone rang just as he was leaving the basement to the care of two uniforms.

“Martinsson,” he answered, without looking at the caller ID, getting in his car one of the officer had nicely brought to him.

“It's Kurt. I found Modin, he's fine, but we need you here. And next time, mind your own business and keep that trap of yours shut!”

Then the line was dead. He groaned inwardly. What had he done now?

As soon as he arrived at the Station, he felt crushed by the heavy atmosphere. The faces around him were grave.

“Magnus, over here,” Kalle called him and he joined his colleague. “Everyone is assembling in the parking lot. We're setting a trap.”

“For whom?” Magnus asked, with a confused frown.

“Ella. Ella Lindfeldt.”

That stopped him right on his tracks. For a moment, he wondered if he had heard correctly.

“Kurt's girlfriend?”

Kalle threw him a look he did not quite manage to read, almost as if the word “girlfriend” insulted him personally.

“She's part of it, Magnus. She set Kurt up as soon as they found out about the website, made a profile he'd like just to get to him.”

There was a vicious satisfaction in Kalle's voice, but Magnus barely noticed. He felt horrible. What had been cute, good and sweet, was now something dirty, a manipulation, an abuse of Kurt's kind nature and vulnerability. No wonder Kurt had been so cutting on the phone. He must have found out Magnus had gossiped. But it had seemed so innocent at the time. Just a bit of teasing, when they were happy Kurt had found someone. He clenched his fist. That woman...

“Come on!” Kalle pulled him to the stairs and he followed silently.

He barely listened to Kalle's briefing. He could not help but glance every so often at Kurt, slumped in his car's seat, looking miserable. He yearned to go to him, apologize, tell him how sorry he was, something. Anything. For a few days, it had looked like a weight had been lifted from Kurt's shoulders, as if he was far less likely to just walk into the sea and never come back. He wanted that Kurt back. He saw the defeated man raise up a cellphone hesitantly.

“He's calling her,” he thought. “He's going to try and bring her into the trap.” It could not be an easy call to make. From all accounts, Kurt had really liked that woman, probably still did somehow. Magnus felt a surge of protectiveness and rage but stifled both. He had done enough damage as it was.

Anne-Britt went to get the address from Kurt and Magnus let her, thought he wished he had been the one to do it. But somehow, he did not think Kurt would have been happy to see his face.

 

* * *

 

They surrounded the house and Magnus flattened himself against a tree. “No guns,” Kurt had said, “except on my order.” But what if she pulled a gun on him? What if Suneson was in there with her?

They could not let Kurt get shot because he had too big a heart!

He watched, as Kurt rang the bell with no result. Then he disappeared around the corner. What if the man was waiting for them, what if he ambushed and shot Kurt before any of them could….

He thoughts were interrupted when he heard gun shots. He launched towards the house, barely aware of the others following. Kurt, he thought, for God's sake, Kurt!

When he arrived, he saw Kurt had shot the side-door open, only to find Ella in a pool of her own blood. He was holding her hand, pained and lost.

That bastard Suneson had slit her throat.

They searched the house in a few minutes, but it was empty. He took a look upstairs only to hear Kurt say “The trigger!” he hurried back down to the sound of “It's the cash-machine!”

But he was too late. Kalle was calling out, pleading Kurt to take some back up with him, but was ignored of course as Kurt's car disappeared down the road.

Magnus did not wait for the others either as he took Kalle's Ford and rushed after him. Kurt would not kill Suneson, surely? He had so much respect for life! Would he be able to live with himself if he did so, in a fit of rage? But Suneson would not hesitated. He had tried to kill Kurt twice. He would try again.

Fuck!

He arrived just in time to see Kurt running down Suneson with his car. He slammed the handbrake up and jumped out of his. “Kurt!” he screamed, “Kurt! Stop!”

Anne-Britt got to him before he did and he watched as Kalle and the other officers took care of the cash-machine.

Kurt walked out, as if stoned, and they had no choice but let him go.

 

* * *

 

Later, when they had taken Suneson to the hospital – where Kalle stayed to keep an eye on him – when everything was said and done and Anne-Britt, Lisa and Sven had left for their respective homes, Magnus walked to Kurt's office and stopped in front of it, hesitant.

He lowered his head, biting his lips, listening to the silence inside. Anne-Britt had said she would phone Linda, so Kurt would not be alone for long. But Magnus still felt that someone should check on him. That he should check on him. Kurt had looked so anguished, so defeated when he had left. He pressed a hand against the door, long fingers tracing the cracks in the wood.

Finally, he knocked.

“Yes, Magnus, come in.”

He blinked, surprised, and slipped into the room. Kurt was sitting, shoulders sagged, on his desk's chair, eyes on his computer screen.

“How did you know it was me?” He asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets because he did not know what to do with them.

Kurt chuckled, sounding rather hollow. “Call it a lucky guess.”

“Kurt, I'm sorry,” his mouth decided to say without his brain taking any part in the process.

Kurt looked up at him. His face was open, as always, the pain written there for all to see. “For what?”

Magnus sucked his lips, trying to find a proper answer that would encompass all that he was feeling, all that he felt guilty about and how much he felt for Kurt at that moment.

“Everything,” he said eventually.

Kurt chuckled humourlessly again, eyes drifting towards the window.

“I shouldn't have…” He trailed off. No, he should not have spied on Kurt's private life, should not have gossiped about it like a schoolboy, even if it was common among their little work-family. If only he had known...

Kurt raised a hand. “It's okay.” He said simply. Magnus debated leaving it at that. After all, he had apologized and Kurt did not seem to hold any grudge against him. Still. It was not the only reason he had come to see his supervisor.

“Ella was… Well, she was good to you. You were… well, you were smiling. You looked happy.”

“Yeah…” Kurt murmured, distractedly. Then he looked back at him, a bit more alert.

“What are you trying to say, Magnus?”

The younger man parted his lips, then sighed.

“Look… It's not my place to say it, but I think… I think you shouldn't give up, okay? You're a great guy, Kurt. You deserve someone who'll make you happy like that.”

_Oh God, shut your mouth!_

“And I'm sorry for Ella, for everything, just… there are others out there who'll appreciate you for who you are...”

_Just shut up, for God's sake!_

“Who'll fall in love with the opera and the wine, and the kindness and, and the sharp mind, and will show you places you've never been to, or spend nice evenings talking, and...”

He finally managed to stop the flow and swallowed. Kurt was looking at him with naked surprise written all over him. Then he laughed softly. “You really don't know how to shut that mouth of yours, do you? No matter the situation.”

Magnus shrugged lightly. “I'm just saying...”

“It's all right, Magnus,” Kurt cut gently, before adding, with a warmth Magnus had not expected, “Thank you.”

For a moment, he looked at Magnus with something the young man associated with… longing? He stood there, unable to say anything else, trying to analyse what was happening.

“Ah, so, sometimes you do shut up,” Kurt remarked with almost a smile, but he seemed to be retracting into himself and his pain once more. “Go home, Magnus. Have a nice weekend.”

The last part sounded more like a request than a goodbye and Magnus nodded, leaving silently but with a small smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in a long time, he had a full week-end off to look forward to. On a whim, he decided to spend it in Copenhagen. He had a couple of friends over there and he called them, even at this late hour, asking if he could crash at their house. They accepted, simply warning him they would be out on Saturday night. Magnus did not care, he only wished to get away for a bit and in Copenhagen he would be able to go to a proper gay bar for a change.

In the early morning, he closed everything down, took an overnight bag and was on his way. He fiddled with his car stereo until he found a classical music Station. They were broadcasting an opera and he smiled, leaving it on. He did not know much about the genre but he could appreciate a piece he found beautiful. This one definitely was.

 _Madame_ _Butterfly_ , the presenter said between two pieces.

He relaxed in his seat, trying to forget the horrors he had witnessed the past few months.

“I could use a glass of wine,” he thought to himself before chuckling. He really needed to let that Kurt romantic profile go. He had always been more of a beer man anyway.

He arrived for breakfast and his friends made sure to make a good time of it. Lukas, a slender, willowy nerd of a guy was a friend from his computer engineering year. He was already with Angela when they met and they had remained friends ever since, even after the couple moved to Copenhagen. Angela, his wife of five years now, was petite, with vivid green eyes, and worked in something called Ecotoxicology, which meant, according to her husband, that she could cheerfully poison half the European population and get away with it. Magnus was fairly certain it was a joke.

They were nice and all, but Magnus felt somewhat remote from them. They had not seen what he had seen and he could not articulate the horror he sometimes had to witness at work. He was glad to see them and he tried, honestly tried, to let go of the job for a few hours. But it was hard. They spoke about their plan to have a baby by the next year and he made every attempts not to think of Sonya's and Dolorès' bodies in the morgue, of their parents' pain.

They spent the day down town and while it was fun and a true breath of fresh air, Magnus found himself checking his phone now and again. He did not know if he was hoping work called or waiting for news from Kurt, as stupid as that sounded. Lukas and Angela left him around 6 and, after a quick dinner and a change of clothes, he took a cab and headed to a bar Angela had recommended. She knew the address from one of her gay friends, she said, and it was a good place to mingle. She hinted they would not worry if he did not come back to the apartment that night, but left him a key, just in case.

 

* * *

 

The bar was fairly crowed and Magnus scanned the faces slowly. There were handsome men around, of all body types, some of them downright gorgeous. But he felt strangely reluctant. He berated himself. He had come to this place to meet (and ultimately fuck) someone, had he not? Yet, none of them quite managed to catch his eyes. Mostly, he found out after a minute of introspection, he felt lonely, even in that crowd. He walked to the bar and sat down, ordering a few shots of alcohol. They came in bright colours and he raised one, amused. Two men tried to engage him, but none of them turned him on and he found himself bored with them fairly quickly. They did not seem to have much to talk about, other that to invite him back to their place. He moved to the other side of the bar to get rid of them and ordered a glass of wine, almost without thinking.

As he waited for it, despite the loud music, his keen ears managed to pick up a familiar voice ordering a pint. He blinked, disbelieving, and turned towards the voice. Sure enough, he recognised the back of the man it belonged to.

“Kalle?”

The man turned abruptly towards him, his eyes widening as soon as they fell on him.

“M... Martinsson?” he asked, stunned, “what are you doing here?”

He looked agitated and for a second, Magnus wondered why. Then it came to him.

Oh.

Kalle was in a gay bar.

Kalle looked ashamed to have been caught in a gay bar.

Kalle was... gay?

It had never occurred to him that he could be, but then again, neither had he thought him straight. Kalle did not really register as a sexual being to Magnus. And he did not know the man very well, despite their partnership.

He smiled reassuringly. “Having a drink of course,” he raised his glass, “you okay?”

“Don't...” Kalle started and Magnus frowned.

Then he shook his head.

“I won't, Kalle,” he said reassuringly, “believe me, I know what it's like to be in the closet.”

His colleague seemed to relax marginally.

“I trust you won't say anything either,” he inquired. He did not relish the idea of the Station knowing he was bi or thinking him gay. Besides, if Kalle thought they were sharing a secret, he would probably be far more relaxed.

“No, of course not!” Svedberg replied. Then he smiled hesitantly. “Want a drink?”

Magnus nodded, even if they both already had one in hand. It would have been rude to dismiss his colleague, and their new-found kinship in that particular respect intrigued him. They settled at a table in a corner.

“Didn't think you were the wine type,” Kalle remarked. It was true that, every time they had gone out on a work outing, Magnus had ordered beers.

“I felt like a change,” he replied with a light shrug and Kalle grunted non-committally. “So how long have you been... er... coming here?”

“I don't come that often,” Kalle said defensively. “Just... from time to time. What about you?”

“In this bar? It's my first time. I'm staying with friends over the week-end and they had something planned tonight. So I went exploring on my own. My friend recommended it. She has a gay best friend who...” he trailed off, when he saw the way Kalle was looking at him.

Some people never got used to his ramblings.

After a beat, Kalle noted: “You said you had a girlfriend, couple months back.”

It sounded almost like an accusation. Magnus tilted his head to the side.

“And so I did. I'm bisexual, if you must know.”

“Bisexual,” Kalle echoed, speculatively.

“Yes we do exist. Unlike unicorns.”

Kalle looked at him blankly and he sighed. “Never mind.”

Another silence stretched, so Magnus, pressing his lips, tried a new approach.

“Have you read the books?”

“The books?” Kalle repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“About the Indians.... the Native Americans. We never did get to talk about it.”

It was the right choice and soon Kalle launched into a detailed account of the cultures he had studied. After that, they went on to speak about a few of their cases, all the while drinking steadily. Then they moved to Station gossip for a while, but Magnus found himself strangely reluctant to talk about Kurt, after Ella. Yet Kalle pressed him, as if he expected Magnus to have more to say on that count.

After a while their conversation slowed. It was quieter, in their corner, and Magnus was feeling mellow and tired, and quite a bit drunk, slouching on the table. He doubted he would get a partner and thought idly he may have wasted the only opportunity he would get in a long while. Kalle had been silent for some times and he almost made Magnus jumped when he started talking again.

“I know, you know...” he said quietly, almost too low for Magnus to hear. The blond frowned at the other detective. “I've seen the way you look at him,” the man expanded.

Except Magnus still did not have a clue where he was going. To be fair, concentrating was getting a wee bit difficult.

He blinked slowly, trying to order his thoughts through the fumes of alcohol and exhaustion.

What was his colleague talking about? Sluggishly, he reached for his – what was it now 5th? 6Th? – glass and, missing it, gave up gloomily, resting his chin on his forearm and glancing back at Svedberg. The man was staring at him with a great deal of intensity, his eyes searching, detailing, as if Magnus was some kind of... well either artwork or gourmet meal.

It was rather disturbing, Magnus thought, with the detachment and self-amusement of the very drunk.

“You're a pretty thing... but it won't be enough. He'll never notice, and even if he did, he's straight as an arrow.”

A number of questions popped into Magnus' mind at once. Who was straight? So what, what should it matter to him? Why was Svedberg saying those thing? Did he find Magnus... attractive?

Was Kalle hitting on him?

Suddenly it occurred to him, who the man was talking about. It felt strange, uncomfortable, something he did not want to talk about but did not know why yet. It also spread a burning heat in his lower half. He shifted slightly on his seat, the room dangerously swinging with the move. He laughed quietly, or rather tried too. It somehow came out as loud and slightly hysterical.

“I'm not attracted to him,” he said finally and winced. Knowing who Svedberg meant was one thing, declaring he did it so blatantly was hardly going to deter him.

The man chuckled and it sounded almost bitter to Magnus' ears. “What?” He could not help but ask, frustrated to be the bottom of a joke he felt was absurd to begin with. “You are, Magnus, you really are.” He moved his glass of whisky in a slow circle, before pointing a finger at Magnus. “Every time he walks into a room, you look at him and only him.” “He's magnetic,” Magnus slurred, a tad too defensively for his taste, “and he's my supervisor.” “Lisa's your supervisor too. And you don't look at her half as much as you look at him. You don't try to impress her the way you desperately try to impress him.”

No. Kurt was his supervisor, and a pain in the arse, and a depressive self-centred bastard!

Well, he had rugged good looks, Magnus supposed, if one liked older men. And a kind smile. And he did look adorable when he was grumpy.

His eyes were his best features though. His keen, expressive, beautiful eyes… A good man, a kind, honest, intelligent man, who wore his heart on his sleeve and refused to use violence if he could help it and...

Magnus took another long sip of his beer, despite knowing he should stop drinking.

Good grief. Kalle was right. He had a thing for Kurt Wallander.

“I should…” He got up and wait for a moment for the room to stop spinning. “Wow.”

“My hotel is only two streets down. Want to come over, sober up a little?” Kalle offered before emptying his glass of whisky.

Magnus knew it was a bad idea. He had an inkling as to where it might end up. But what the Hell? The night was still young and they were away from Ystad and their normal lives. He nodded and let Kalle guide him outside.

As they were walking, pressed against each other in the brisk May air, something else occurred to Magnus. And with it, a lot of Svedberg's attitudes that had puzzled him ever since they had met suddenly made sense.

“Oh. You want him, too,” he said, not really sure how loudly. Kalle did not reply.

Kalle had a room in an unassuming little hotel, simple but nice, with a queen size bed and a rather large bathroom. It was pleasantly warm and smelled of fresh linen. He closed the door behind them and Magnus took off his coat. He sat on the bed while Kalle disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with two large glasses of water. “Thanks,” Magnus murmured, emptying his in one go and shaking his head slowly.

He looked up at Kalle and found the man watching him intently. “So, how long...” he asked quietly, alcohol dampening his inhibitions. The older man shrugged, sitting next to him to get rid of his shoes. Then he put his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands on his face, rubbing his eyes. “That long, uh?” Magnus murmured, unsure if he was supposed to feel compassion or something. Mostly, it felt weird, knowing that Kalle was sporting a hard-on for their supervisor.

Knowing that he, himself, might be too...

He wondered about his own attraction. About the feelings that might have inspired it. He had not felt immediately attracted to Kurt, he was not usually into men twenty odd years older than himself, so there must be more than just good old fashioned lust involved. He bet it was the same for Kalle, who had known Kurt for far longer than Magnus had. Who was much closer in age.

Should he feel jealous? He had not felt jealous of Ella, had he?

Perhaps a little... But, mostly, he had wanted Kurt to be happy.

Oh, boy... He was in so deep...

That night was surreal. Maybe he should hope not to remember anything come morning. And yet... Kurt...

He looked at the man next to him, properly looked at him, perhaps for the first time, with a new understanding. How old was he? Forty? Forty five? Fifty? How long had he been – in love? – with Kurt? Did he have friends? Family? What else did he like, aside from Native American cultures and stout beers? Right now he was hunched forwards, had dark circles under his eyes and an exhausted face. The kind of exhaustion that was as much emotional as it was physical.

Magnus blinked slowly, trying to focus.

He put a hand on his shoulder. Kalle tensed slightly, before turning his face towards him. His eyes darkened and Magnus shivered a bit. He was about to do something stupid and he knew it. He was fairly certain Kalle knew it too. Just as he was fairly certain none of them would stop at that point. Curiosity. Empathy. Mutual understanding perhaps. Or just two horny men feeling lonely. He did not know. But when Kalle leaned towards him, he met him halfway and they kissed. He smelled whisky on Svedberg's breath and tasted it on his tongue. The kiss was rather rough, unrefined and when Kalle grabbed his shoulder to pull him closer, the room still spun a little.

Kalle caught his chin, tilting his head and biting his lower lip, murmuring into his mouth “This is a bad idea... You're drunk... We're drunk...” Magnus grinned, hand clasping Kalle's shirt. He pressed his lips to his colleague's in an almost violent kiss. “Doesn't matter,” he replied and let Kalle pushed him to lay flat on the bed.

“You're a pretty thing,” he said again, as he had earlier in the night, looking down at him. “Lovely, lean...”

His hand followed the length of Magnus' body through his clothes.

“I'm not a thing... and I'm a man, I'm not pretty.” He protested, looking up at his colleague. Kalle did not reply anything, taking off his vest before leaning over him. “You are. As pretty as a girl.” He said and Magnus frowned, this time truly irritated despite the alcohol. “I'm not a girl, Kalle.” He sneered, “will that make it difficult for you?” The man growled and bit his throat in retaliation. Magnus arched on the bed, surprised, pressing involuntarily against the body on top of his. Kalle growled again, deep in his throat. But he was not hard yet.

Magnus wanted him hard. His drunken mind offered him an idea and he followed it. He raised up a bit, sitting up while Kalle knelt on the bed in front of him. He leaned forward until their lips were almost touching.

“Are you going to need to imagine Kurt, Kalle?” he taunted, low and provocative, against his lips “Is that why I am here?”

There was a flash of anger in Kalle's eyes. “Don't you dare...”

“What would you do, if it were Kurt, Svedberg? I don't exactly look like him, but I'm sure I can...”

“Shut your fucking mouth Martinsson!” Kalle snarled and, suddenly, grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around, pushing him face down onto the bed, and lying on him. He fumbled with his belt, then with Magnus', the younger man helping him to lower his trousers down. He gripped the pillow and listened, dazed, to the sound of Kalle ripping a condom package open, fumbling to put it on.

“You're a fucking pain in the arse,” the older man growled as he settled back on him. “Shouldn't I... be the one saying... that?” Magnus pants, feeling rough fingers circling his entrance. “Not yet,” Kalle replied darkly.

He felt some kind of gel, icy and abundant, being poured on him. Then he tensed and arched as Kalle plunged his fingers inside, roughly. “Careful,” he panted, biting his teeth, then the pillow, “it's been a while...”

“Should have thought of that before acting like a smart-ass!” was the grunted reply and he smirked. Kalle was not exactly subtle or tender, but Magnus did not want him to be, and he was thorough. Obviously he was an old hand at this. It felt good. Magnus pressed his erection against the mattress, grinding down to gain some friction and up against the invading fingers. After a moment, Kalle took his fingers away, wiping them roughly on the blanket, before gripping Magnus' hip firmly, holding him into place.

Magnus felt half delirious, and, for a moment, imagined Kurt's hand instead of Kalle, imagined it was his cock, pressed against his entrance. He whined, low in his throat. He wanted, oh God, he really wanted! “Kurt,” he murmured into the pillow. He almost screamed when Kalle took him in one perfunctory thrust. It hurt, God did it hurt, but it felt good too, having a body on top of his, a cock deep inside, a man panting against his ear. “You feel so good,” Svedberg rasped, echoing his thoughts, pressing him down even more. There was an urgency in him, mixed with frustration, as if he was not entirely comfortable with what he was doing and feeling. Magnus ignored it, choosing instead to concentrate on the feeling of being taken, rather roughly.

He forgot he was still mostly dressed with his clothes biting his flesh in several places, he forgot he was screwing one of his colleagues, forgot everything, except the fantasy he had in his head. The smell was wrong, the voice not gravely enough, the hands too sure, too harsh, not gentle, not tender as he imagined Kurt's would be. But it did not matter. It felt good. “Move,” he panted, “come on, move!” The man on top of him, in him, obeyed, and he purred.

It was quick, a tumble without finesse or any kind of affection. He could barely tell if Kalle was careful. He felt feverish trying to gain as much pleasure as he could from the length inside him. With some difficulty, he managed to shift until he could slip a hand under him, grabbing his cock roughly and pulling, jerking off to the rhythm of his partner's hips. Kurt, he thought, somewhere deep into the recesses of his mind. He moaned deeply when he came. It felt like a relief, a release of tension, thought it was not the best orgasm he ever had. Good enough, he supposed hazily, considering the state he was in. After a few more thrusts, he felt Kalle still, heard him growl against his ear through the fog. Then the weight shifted and the man rolled off of him.

He sort of lost consciousness then, half-asleep. He heard Kalle moves through the room as he pressed his head to the pillow with a yawn.

“You're really sweet and sour, aren't you... Just like Louise...” he thought he heard Kalle said after a while, but it did not make sense and so he ignored it. He was far too tired. “Come on, Magnus, you need to take your clothes off. You won't be comfortable like this.” He groaned, trying to push the hands away. Eventually he let them do as they would, too out of it to protest. He felt something wet and warm swiftly cleaning him. The hands took his shoes, jacket, shirt and trousers off and put his underwear back on. Then they helped him slip under the cover and another body lied down next to him. The last thing he remembered was a hand against his cheek in a gentle caress.

 

* * *

 

A ray of light falling directly on his face woke him up the next morning. He groaned, putting a hand on his still closed eyes. Then he felt a familiar dull throbbing in his arse. Jesus. What had he done last… oh, right. He groaned, silently this time. He knew that as soon as he moved or opened his eyes the hangover would take hold. But of course, he needed to pee.

After a moment, he blinked his eyes opened and flinched. The sunlight hurt. His throat felt like a whole family of raccoons had crawled up and died in it. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and forced himself to sit up, wincing as the throbbing increased, fighting the nausea that threatened to engulf him. He looked around until he found a clock. 9.33. He rarely got up after 7. He rubbed his face and got up wincing again. He walked to the bathroom, clumsily closing the door behind him, and went to the toilet. The window shed a bright light on the room and he tried his best to avert his eyes. When he was done, he washed his hands and face than leaned on the sink.

“Magnus? You okay?”

Kalle. God, he had slept with Kalle Svedberg. He chuckled to himself, surprised to find he was more amused than mortified. It seemed so surreal.

“Yeah,” he tried, voice raspy and low. “I'm fine.”

He took the glass on the sink and filled it three times, drinking as much as he could, trying to remove the horrid taste from his mouth.

"There's some pills by the sink. You should take a couple of those.”

Magnus obediently did, swallowing the paracetamol eagerly.

“If you need a shower, I didn't use the smaller towel. You're welcome to it.”

Magnus considered it. He could wait to be back at Lukas' and Angie's, but the idea of arriving at their home smelling of sweat and sex was not really appealing.

The shower felt heavenly and he relaxed, finally able to think properly, despite his ragging headache. Would it feel strange, to work with Kalle, now? Would they talk about it? Would they simply ignore it?

Seeing Kurt again, after this week end…

He stepped out of the shower and dried up quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist and finally exited the bathroom to face the music. Kalle was sitting on the bed, fiddling with his phone but not looking at it. He raised his head at Magnus' entrance and pointed to a chair silently. The younger man's clothes were neatly folded on it. He went to retrieve them, putting his trousers on without his underwear.

“Thanks,” he finally remembered to say. So far, Kalle had acted the perfect gentleman. Certainly far better than most of the few one night stands Magnus had over the years.

“Yeah,” Kalle said softly and Magnus glanced at him. The man was looking straight ahead, still nervously playing with his phone. He looked deeply uncomfortable. The younger man could hardly hold it against him. Many things had been said during the night, never mind their vigorous drunken tumble of a fuck.

He finished buttoning up his shirt and threw the towel on the chair before walking to the bed and sitting next to the man. “Look, Kalle, it's okay, really.” He tried, not really sure he believed it himself. The man did not look at him. “Was it so...” Kalle got up abruptly and walked to the window. “...bad?” he finished, licking his lips with a light frowned. He had enjoyed it well enough, he remembered, even if Kalle was obviously ambivalent concerning his feelings and desires. So what? It was not the first time Magnus had slept with a closeted guy... And there was little doubt they had both been willing and eager even so.

“Kalle, are you alright?” He asked eventually, at a loss. They could not go back in time, so what was the point of regretting what had happened? The man tensed even more and Magnus sighed.

“Yes, I'm fine,” Svedberg finally replied, not giving away anything else. Magnus knew he should leave it at that, he really, really should. But he did not.

“Is it so hard to face what we did? It's obviously not easy for you but there is no need to fuck as if you were ashamed of what you feel...” he murmured, when it became clear Kalle was not going to say anything else.

“Said the guy who has not come out to anyone,” Kalle replied swiftly, defensively. He finally turned to face the younger man, which Magnus counted as a success. Sort of. He kept his clear gaze on him, face morphing into a gentle frown.

“Neither have you. It's none of their business.”

Kalle pushes his hands in his pockets. He was dressed and had cleaned up, at least partially, but not shaved, Magnus noted idly.

“You're the biggest gossip of the whole Station, Magnus! Don't fancy a taste of your own medicine?”

The blond's frown deepened, unsure where that sudden aggressive attitude was coming from. Was it panic? Magnus was a gossip, he could not deny it. But then again, so were Anne-Britt and Sven. So was Kalle, for that matter. But it still felt too close to home after the Ella debacle.

“Why are you being such a bastard about it? It's not my fault Kurt's not looking at you the way you want him to.”

Kalle flinched and turned away again. Okay, that was low. He had let his mouth ran away from him again. He bit his lips and forced himself to calm.

“Look, I'm sorry. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, I swear. None of it. Not what we did, not what we talked about, not even that we met this week-end in Copenhagen. It's nobody's business.”

He brushed imaginary dust off his lap pensively. “And we don't need to talk about it again, if you're not comfortable with it. It was one night. It felt good. Let's just leave it at that.” He did not know what else to say, so he stood up. “I should probably go. My friends are expecting me. Brunch, I think. I don't get their fascination with it. I thought it was a gay thing.”

_God, would you just shut up!_

When he turned to glance at Kalle one more time after putting his coat on, he found the man looking at him. He stopped, hand on the door handle. Kalle's eyes were… sad. Empty. He felt his heart tighten in empathy. Whatever was eating at Kalle's mind, it was bad. But he did not know the man enough – they were not even friends, simply colleagues – so he did not know what to say or do to help him. Was it his unrequited love for Kurt? Or something more?

He was about to exit the room when his phone rang. He made a small sound of annoyance and picked it up.

“Martinsson.”

“Magnus, it's Kurt. Where is that report on Nordin's case?”

Hearing Kurt's voice there, at that moment, felt too loud, too big... It gave shape to the ghost standing between him and Kalle, the ghost that had been there while they fucked, like a solid presence in their bed. It took him completely by surprise, enough so that at first he did not even know what to answer.

“Magnus? Nordin's case report, I can't find it. I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“Er, no, no it's fine,” Magnus rambled, shaking his head, passing a hand through his hair. “I sent it to you on Friday I think, before I left.”

“I don't have it in my mail box. Don't tell me we've been hacked again!”

“Kurt, even if we had been I don't think they would have gone for the report on serial shoplifting. Anyway, I put it on the central server too.”

“The what?”

Magnus chuckled. He felt Kalle's eyes on him and looked up. The man was watching him and he could not quite read his expression.

“Do you need it urgently? I could show you tomorrow...”

Kurt did not say anything for a while, then “No, it's... it's fine. It can wait. How are you doing? You're, er, having a nice week-end?”

Magnus raised his eyebrows in amazement, both at the question – why would Kurt even ask, he never did – and the tone with which it was delivered. It sounded hesitant.

He found himself responding just as hesitantly, feeling quite out of his depths:

“Er, yeah. I'm, I'm in Copenhagen. With a couple of friends. I'm coming back later this afternoon.”

“That's... nice.”

There was a silence. Magnus sucked in his lips, still looking at Kalle. Wallander felt more and more like a physical presence between them.

“Anything new at the Station?” He was reluctant at the idea to ask Kurt how he was, considering Ella and all that had happened. He could not quite make out why the man was calling him. It was so strange, having him on the phone at that moment.

“No, a robbery, couple of drunken brawls... and the sodding car trafficking case.” He trailed off for a moment, then said, “I should... well, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Later, Kurt,” Magnus replied easily, waiting for the other man to hang up before doing the same.

“Something wrong?” Kalle asked, but in a voice that said he knew nothing was.

Magnus thought he sounded bitter too, but it might have been his imagination.

“No. Kurt and computers, you know... I'll... Well, I'll see you back in Ystad.”

He exited the room, barely listening to Kalle's goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Angela had wanted to know if he had found a well-hung guy to spend the night with. He obviously refused to answer but found himself trying later on to remember how big Kalle had felt inside of him. He honestly could not recall. The whole night was a haze.

It was probably better to keep it that way.

They had brunch and then spent the afternoon lazying on the couple's couch, drinking coffee, gossiping about celebrities and watching atrociously bad telly. He bade them goodbye by late afternoon, fully intending to take the evening all to himself to relax and think about what had happened.

 

* * *

 

He found himself parking in front of the Ystad Police Station barely two hours later. He stayed behind the wheel for a moment, wondering what he was doing here. He brain came up with any number of excuses, but he knew the truth. He wanted to see Kurt.

Pathetic. He was being pathetic. Kurt was his supervisor and a pain in the backside and he would probably look at Magnus as if he had grown a second head if he saw him at the Station on his day off.

After another few moments of hesitation, he cursed himself and got out, walking to their offices.

“Magnus, I wasn't expecting you here tonight,” Lisa said as they met on the stairs. She was obviously going home, her handbag on her shoulder and her coat in her hand. She was tired, he could tell, and probably quite hungry. Yet her eyes were still sharp, they always were. She was too lenient with Wallander, letting him lead the dance whenever he felt like it, but Magnus had come to realise she was far more than just their administrative nanny.

He worried suddenly that she would be able to tell. She knew them and she never stopped observing.

“I… something I thought I'd better check with Kurt. My report. He said he needed it.”

She looked at him blankly.

“What report?”

“Nordin's case.”

Now she looked slightly confused.

“The serial shoplifting thing? We sent it out a few days ago, I think. It's on the server. Why does Kurt need it?”

He shrugged, but he was privately wondering the same thing. She sighed, her fatigue apparently winning over her curiosity.

“Anyway, Kurt's still up there, go check with him if you'd like, but frankly Magnus, I think it could have waited till tomorrow.”

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

She wiggled a finger at him.

“Don't become like him. There's a life to be had outside of here. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He replied in kind and watched her go, before going on his way up.

It was Sunday night and the office was slowly becoming silent. Anne-Britt had obviously already left, her desk neatly tidied up and her handbag absent. His was as organised as ever and he resisted the temptation to turn his computer on to check his mails. He could do that tomorrow. He walked to the door to Kurt's office and knocked gently.

He did not have a real reason to be there, he reflected, as Kurt's voice – distracted and muffled – invited him inside. But Kurt would probably not think much of it, would he?

“Hey,” he said, a warm feeling flooding his body when he saw the older man, hunched a bit towards his screen, glasses on his nose and tipping with barely more than two fingers.

He raised his head when he heard Magnus voice and leaned back on his chair with a surprised smile.

“Magnus? What are doing here?”

He grinned, trying for casual.

“Well, I was on my way home, and since you called this morning, I thought I might as well come and get the Nodin report thing over with.”

Kurt looked taken aback, than almost bashful.

“Oh… that wasn't urgent. And anyway, I've… dealt with it.”

“You've dealt with it,” Magnus repeated, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yeah, well, Anne-Britt showed me how that server thing works.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

He felt rather purposeless for a second as they watched each other in silence.

“Well, I should probably go then.” He said at last, unsure what else to do. Kurt nodded. “Yeah, enjoy the rest of your day off.”

Magnus turned on his heels. But as he reached the door, he felt an impulse and his mouth chose again to take it further without his explicit consent.

“Er, since I'm here anyway, why don't we go grab something to eat?”

 _Invite your supervisor on a date, why don't you!_ He immediately berated himself internally. He glanced at Kurt, who was looking at him from behind his computer. He looked surprised but not displeased or dismissive. “Sure, why not?” he replied after a bit. “Just let me finish this, first.”

He nodded, trying to tell himself not to be nervous. After all, this meant nothing to Kurt. This would have meant nothing to him either just the day before. Before Kalle had made him realise...

But they had never gone out just the two of them for anything other than a case before either.

Still, it probably meant nothing to Kurt, except that he was tired and hungry and Magnus just happened to be here and asking. He probably expected the younger man to pay too.

His supervisor was still tipping, at that infuriating slow pace of his.

“What are you doing anyway,” he could not help but ask. That was stupid. Did he really want to antagonize the older man right now?

But Kurt only replied “Writing an email to the Prosecutor about Suneson.”

Oh. Magnus bit the inside of his lip. Ella. Of course, Kurt would still be mourning. It had only been a two days. And he did not have a shocking revelation over the week-end that made those two days look like years.

“He's going away for a long time,” he said and Kurt nodded. “He won't be coming out at all.”

Magnus did not say he was sorry. He had said it all already and he did not want to reopen the wound in any way. He looked through the window at the sea and waited for Kurt to be done.

“There.” His supervisor finally said, shutting down his computer. “I'm done. So, where do you want to go?”

Magnus had not thought that far ahead. He tried to come up with somewhere they had gone before with the team, but then he thought about Kurt's profile on the dating website: _“you show me places I might not have gone to otherwise”._

“I know a place. It's not far from here.”

 

* * *

 

He had found the place entirely by accident the first year of his arrival to Ystad. He was looking for a witness' apartment and had taken the wrong street. It was a small bar-restaurant with a sort of stage area for young musicians or writers. They came and went without order, nothing was planed in advance. Sometimes, they were cringe-worthy, but most of the time they were good and Magnus had discovered some now beloved bands through the place. The walls were similarly covered with the work of young local artists, changing every so often. This time, the theme seemed to be… well, blue. Every piece was blue, with splashes of paintings, collages and pieces of glass. It was weirdly soothing.

A pixie of a young woman with long red hair and a black dress was playing the violin. There were few people, but they were all younger than Magnus, probably students on holidays.

Kurt looked around, seemingly out of sort and the blond could not help but smile.

“Come on,” he said and pulled his supervisor toward a coffee table by a window. Beyond the glass they could see the lights from the docks.

“I feel ancient,” Kurt remarked wryly and Magnus chuckled. “Come on! I don't think they've even noticed us.”

The students were either listening to the violinist or talking quietly among themselves. A young man with a large red dragon tattooed on his muscular arm came to give them two menus.

“Why isn't there any meat in there?” Kurt asked and Magnus suddenly remembered that the place was vegetarian. He told his supervisor as much.

“But there isn't any fish either.”

Magnus pressed his lips in a grin.

“They're vegetarian in the continental way. They don't serve any meat or fish.”

The look Kurt sent him from above his menu made him pause. He hoped he had not made a mistake.

“Give them a chance, it's really good. And they have excellent wine.”

His supervisor huffed a little, but chose a veggie burger while Magnus asked for a salad. They ordered a bottle of red wine to go with it.

As they waited, Magnus turned to look at the redhead pixie, who was now moving sinuously as she played, in an almost dance. It was mesmerizing, the melody quick and light.

“It's nice,” Kurt said and Magnus looked back at him. His face was relaxed, even if he still wore the obvious traces of exhaustion. “I don't think I've ever been to a place like this before.”

“Not everything that comes with this modern age has to be bad,” Magnus murmured and Kurt glanced at him with a look he could not quite decipher.

“No, I suppose it doesn't.” He said eventually and his eyes were gentle again. It made Magnus smile.

“Though, if you must know, Magnus, I think we already had places like that when I was young.”

“Vegetarian alternative bar/restaurants?”

“Well, maybe not vegetarian...”

The waiter came back with their food and Kurt looked at his plate critically.

“Try it,” Magnus invited with a smile, “it's... er... good for you.” He had been about to say it was healthy, but Kurt had ordered a burger after all. With chips.

At least it was home-made.

“You sound like my daughter.” Kurt retorted.

But he did take a bite. Then another. The wine seemed to his taste too.

“And that's a bad thing?” Magnus asked, cutting his tomato with small, precise movements.

“She'd have me eating nothing but vegetables and sprouted seeds and what not.”

Magnus picked some sprouted soy beans from his plate with his fork. “They can be nice. It just takes some times to get used to the taste.”

“You're not a vegetarian, are you?” Kurt inquired, eyes narrowing, and Magnus laughed. “God no! You've seen me eating burgers often enough. Burgers with beef in them, that is.”

He toyed with a piece of carrots. He felt the compulsion to play with his food, make a small tower or something. But that was definitely not something he should be doing in front of his supervisor.

“So what does she do? Linda, I mean...” He asked after a few more bites.

“She's studying law and working part time at a hospital.”

“Law?” Magnus repeated. “She wouldn't want to become a police officer by any chance?”

Kurt grimaced. “I hope not. But I doubt it.”

Magnus looked down at his plate. Maybe he should let go of this line of inquiry, but he was curious. The few policemen and women he had met whose parents had been on the job had always said they were very proud of their choices, had encouraged them to follow their path.

“Would it be so bad?”

Kurt took a sip of wine. “I worry enough about her as it is.”

A silence fell and they both concentrated on their food. The salad was good, fresh and the spicy tang of the sauce was pleasant on his tongue. He thought about the situation, how it looked, what it could mean. They were not talking about work, but it did not feel like a date either. Why would it anyway? He glanced up at Kurt, taking advantages of his supervisor' attention being on his food to detail him. The circles around his eyes had deepened but his greyish skin was taking on a healthier glow, or so it seemed, since they had sat down. Perhaps Kurt was finally relaxing.

He wanted to ask about Ella, but managed to restrain himself. A first.

The violinist had stopped playing and was now singing, in a language that was unfamiliar to Magnus. It was rough, but beautiful. She had a nice soprano and a steady voice.

His eyes fell on a couple between their table and the singer. Two girls. They did not touch each other, but one was talking quietly, animatedly, and there was little to no doubt her companion was in love with her. She had a look in her eyes, a softness in her expression, certain and adoring. The whole world had ceased to be, suspended to her love's lips. Magnus wondered how one, an actor for example, could actually capture this, imitate this.

God, he hoped that was not what Kalle had meant when he talked about how Magnus looked at Kurt! But that was ridiculous, was it not?

Love was a weird thing. Magnus did not spend much time on it. He was an ambitious man doing a time consuming job. Love came second. If it came at all. Most of Magnus' relationships, with men and women alike, had looked more like repeated hook-ups than emotional commitments. Some people said they were “not relationship materials” but Magnus never identified as such. He could do relationships, but they required a level of effort he was unwilling to apply himself to.

Was Kalle in love with Kurt? Probably. Obviously. Years of pinning there. Unrequited but strong.

Was Magnus?

He turned to glance discretely at Wallander, who was done eating and was now sipping his wine, looking at the singer.

Magnus honestly had not clue. He was definitely emotionally involved, since the desire he felt for Kurt was beyond physical. But love? How the Hell was he supposed to know?

Was he looking at Kurt the way this girl was looking at her companion? Surely, if he had been, people would have noticed. He would have noticed. Kurt would... no, Kurt was entirely self-absorbed when it came to his squad. If they did not annoy him one way or the other, if they were not dying somehow, they barely registered.

That was a little unfair, but not untrue, Magnus decided.

Did it matter anyway? Kurt was... whatever Kurt was and that came with such an emotional baggage he was not sure who could take him on. He was not as sure as Kalle that Kurt was straight. He was oblivious, more like: oblivious to Kalle's feelings, oblivious to Magnus', in many ways, oblivious to everything around him that did not directly concern a case.

Even so, he still felt drawn to the man. He still admired him. Still wanted to spend time with him. Wanted to impress him. Wanted him to be happy.

“She's good,” Kurt said, off-handedly.

The singer had taken up her violin again and was now playing while another girl from the audience was singing with a clear voice. Magnus hummed in agreement.

“When was the last time you went to a concert?” He asked, curious. Before Ella, he had had trouble imagining Kurt going out to have any sort of fun.

But he was there, was he not?

“A concert?” Kurt made the sweeping eyes motion everyone makes when they're trying to remember something. “I'm not sure... Years, I think. Inga and I used to go when Linda was younger.”

“Opera?”

“Among other things, yes. Inga preferred chamber orchestras.”

Oh dear. Magnus smiled and took his glass of wine. He liked classical music well enough as a broad genre, but he knew next to nothing about it.

“Why do you ask?”

Oh. Magnus did not know what to answer to that, so, of course, his mouth took over his brain once again.

“I thought… Well, I don't know much about Opera and I'm always open to new things, so, if you were, you know, still going, I could have tagged along.”

His supervisor looked mildly surprised. “You're sure you wouldn't be bored?”

Magnus shrugged with another smile. “I can't really know for sure till I try one, right?”

“True, I suppose. But I'm not… well, I haven't been to an opera in a long time. I'm not sure I would enjoy it.”

He sounded pained and perhaps, Magnus thought, perhaps it was not the idea of going to a concert but the idea of going out, period, which made him uncomfortable. Maybe it had to do with Ella, or maybe it was something deeper. Whatever it was, the blond intended to change it. Kurt needed something else in his life than his job and his alcohol.

Sex, for instance.

Not necessarily sex with Magnus, obviously… Especially considering that would imply a lengthy conversation about Magnus' preferences. And Kurt's. The idea did not sit well with him. Never mind the fact that they worked together.

But if not sex, at least companionship.

They were done with their dinner and Kurt looked at him critically when he declined to have a dessert. But brunch had been more than substantial and something at the pit of his stomach stopped him from eating more anyway. He watched his supervisor eat his ice-cream and tried not to give any subtext, well subimage, to what he was seeing.

He shifted in his seat, felt the rough touch of his jeans against his private parts and paled. It dawned on him suddenly that he did not have any underwear on. Aside from the possible embarrassment if he ever came to the point where he would have an erection, it meant that he had forgotten them somewhere.

And he knew very well where that somewhere was. On the floor of a certain bathroom in a certain Copenhagen hotel.

He closed his eyes. Oh God. He would have to ask Kalle for the thing. That was going to be awkward.

Possibly Kalle would… drop them somewhere near his locker?

With their combined fluids on them, not bloody likely… How do you go on cleaning your one-night-stand's underwear? He doubted Kalle was the kind of guy who would simply throw them away.

Maybe he should just drop by Kalle's apartment. Maybe that would be less embarrassing for them both.

What Kurt was doing to his ice-cream was very distracting.

He forced his eyes back on the violinist, but now that he had noticed his state of affair he could not seem to think of anything else.

He bit his thumb.

Once Wallander was finished with his dessert, Magnus went to pay and they left.

“Thanks for the dinner, Magnus,” Kurt said as they stepped outside.

“Anytime,” he replied, and he meant it, probably more than his supervisor imagined.

Kurt yawned. “Think I should go home. I'll see you tomorrow.”

As long as the older man was not going back to the office to work till exhaustion took him, Magnus considered the evening a definite win.

“Yeah. See you.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as he was back in his car, he took his phone out and texted Kalle. “Think I forgot something at the hotel, would you happen to have it?” He hit “send” and hoped his colleague would not think it a ploy to hook up again.

Maybe he should just have let it go.

His phone vibrated and he opened the reply. “Yeah. Just out of the wash. I'll bring them back to you when I'm back at the office.”

He reread the message, wondering why Kalle would say something like that rather than simply “tomorrow”. But he shrugged. Whatever. It was not urgent anyway.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Kalle had taken a two weeks holiday. Magnus frowned when he heard about it. Kalle had not mentioned it, not even when they were talking at the bar. He hoped it was not a last minute decision because of him and what had happened in Copenhagen. But Kalle had seemed burdened, and not only because they had slept together. So a vacation was a good thing, right?

When Anne-Britt asked what he had been up to that week-end, he still felt a pang of embarrassment and wondered how right Kalle had been about his reluctance to come out to his colleagues. Was he hiding behind the 'not their business' deal? Because he was afraid? Because he knew what prejudice felt like?

Perhaps.

It did not really matter, he decided. They did not need to know and he did not need to tell them. So all was well, really.

He told Anne-Britt he had a great time with friends in Copenhagen and left it at that. He did not tell her about his and Kurt's diner the night before either. He did not really feel like sharing that.

She seemed surprised by his evasiveness but let it go easily enough. They soon were talking about Kurt again, and Ella, but Magnus offered little on the subject, listening distractedly to Anne-Britt and Sven.

The next two weeks passed like a blur. He worked every single day, Sundays included: Kalle's absence made them rather short-staffed. Especially since Kalle Svedberg was a hard worker, if nothing else.

In the midst of it all, Magnus completely forgot about his missing underwear.

 

* * *

 

When Kalle came back, he was even more withdrawn than before. Or, perhaps, now Magnus actually noticed he was? Either way, the man talked little, even when they all had coffee in the morning. He did not volunteered any holiday memory and Magnus, to his later deepest regret, did not ask or care. He thought they might talk the next case they would have together.

He was more worried about Kurt. The man did not seem to sleep all that much and his eyes were getting smaller and smaller, as the circles under them grew wider by the day. He probably had a lot to deal with, family wise.

And it was Kurt, depression seemed to be always looming. After Ella, he had expected it to get worse. Thankfully, it was not as bad as he thought it would be. Still, his supervisor looked forlorn and exhausted, so Magnus made sure to bring him coffee if he stayed up late (which was more or less always) and tried not to be too annoyed by his various quirks or attitudes. He made a point to bite his tongue when he wanted to protest the amount of stupid odd jobs Kurt still gave him, to the point where Anne-Britt actually noticed.

“I'm glad to see it's becoming easier between you two,” she said one day, as Kurt and Kalle were out on the car trafficking case from Hell that would probably never ends...

He snorted, because he felt the efforts on this matter were pretty much one-sided. “You mean because I've been offering my left cheek instead of putting my foot in my mouth?”

She grinned. When she was not worrying over any of them or a case, she had a lovely, carefree grin he liked a lot.

“Well, whatever you're doing, it's working!” She said and went back to her own desk. He made a show of rolling his eyes and she laughed.

 

* * *

 

The next day Magnus was typing witnesses reports for the Prosecutor on a murder case – another of Kurt's special little tasks – when he heard a woman arguing with Kalle. Or rather, screaming at Kalle. It was hard, arguing with the mildest, most discreet man in the forces. Well, he had many secrets to keep, did he not, behind that quiet façade...

He raised his head and saw Kurt and Anne-Britt making their way to them.

He shook his head and went back to his reports. He wanted to be done today, so he could do some actual police work. But when he looked up again a minute later, he caught a strange sight. Kalle was staring at Kurt with what Magnus could only describe as an expectant expression. Kurt only looked back blankly, tiredly. Eventually he turned his back on the other detective after a few words Magnus did not catch.

Kalle stood there, a solitary figure, shoulders hunched, face haunted, desperate.

Magnus felt the impulse to get up and go to him, perhaps invite him for a coffee or a beer, ask what was wrong. But after what had happened between them, would it not be awkward? And he really, really wanted to be done with that stupid stuff!

It was probably not his business anyway. Maybe Kalle's one-sided love was becoming too much for him to bear? Magnus could not help with that, after all...

He could still ask Kalle tomorrow, right? If he still looked that depressed by then.

For now, Magnus had work to do. Surely, helping Kalle could wait one more day.

 

* * *

 

“Magnus, have you seen Kalle today?”

The blond was trying to put some sugar in his coffee without missing the cup. He was still more asleep than awake. The reports had kept him up till 3 in the morning and he had not been able to go home till 4. Being back to work for 8.30 had felt punishing at best.

He glanced at Anne-Britt and thought she was revoltingly energetic for half past eight in the morning.

“No,” he eventually replied. It was weird, was it not? Usually Kalle came in at 8 sharp. He shrugged. He would not blame the man if he had decided to sleep in for once. He was actually a little jealous. He should have done the same.

“I tried to call him, but he did not reply.” Anne-Britt looked worried and Magnus wanted to roll his eyes. So the man was a bit late, so what?

Kalle barely took any sick day, contrary to Magnus who was very susceptible to serious colds in the winter. For once, maybe he just felt like taking a break from Kurt, from the Station... from that sodding car trafficking case.

“He's probably catching on some sleep,” he said, finally satisfied that his coffee was at least 25% sugar. “I say let him, he looks like he needs it.” He glanced up at Kurt who was rubbing his eyes. “Don't we all?”

She relaxed a bit. “Yeah, you're probably right. Doesn't really sound like Svedberg, but it's been a long weekend for you guys.”

“Tell me about it!” He approved with a yawn.

He did not really pay much attention to what Anne-Britt and Kurt were doing with their morning, right up to the moment the brunette came back to ask after Kalle again. It was almost mid-day and they had heard nothing from him.

Something was not right.

He joined them at Kalle's desk and looked at the empty agenda in dismay. If he was anything, Kalle was a hard working, scrupulously organised man. Yet the book was empty. He felt something viscous and dark growing in the pit of his stomach. Something caught between worry and guilt. No, no it was probably nothing, right?

Kurt did not seem to think so.

“Anne-Britt, keep trying to reach his mobile, Magnus, we're going to his house.”

The blond nodded and they took Kurt's car. He checked Kalle's address but he did not see his supervisor do the same. Had he been there before?

While they were driving, he tried very hard to convince himself nothing was amiss, tried to ignore the bad feeling in his guts. He settled for irritation instead. Kalle was probably just ignoring their calls and all of this, all of it, would be a big misunderstanding. Kurt would be annoyed, and he would take it out on Magnus, as per usual.

“We should have taken a ram,” he said, before his mind caught up with how bad the joke was. What was he even saying? “In case I have to smash the door in.”

_Oh, come on!_

He definitely should not have had that third cup of coffee. Or he definitely should have had 12 hours more sleep. He knew it was just the anxiety talking – better be annoyed and sarcastic than actually consider something bad could have happened.

What could have happened to Svedberg in quiet, small Ystad anyway?

They parked in front of a plain, rather boring looking white building and stepped inside. Going to Kalle's apartment – especially with Kurt – was weird. He suddenly felt the irrational need to make sure Kurt was well aware he had never been there before, was not close to Kalle like that, was not... well.

Better for Kalle too, he gathered.

“I've never been here before,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Have you?”

He was almost certain Kurt had not. One of the many things that must be hard for Kalle to deal with. That would, in time, probably become difficult for him too. Maybe Kalle was just tired of the indifference and had attempted something that would finally make Kurt look at him? No, that hardly sounded like something Kalle would do.

His supervisor shook his head and rang the bell.

“No.”

He knocked firmly a few times.

Magnus leaned against the wall and folded his arms, waiting. All this must have been a misunderstanding, right? Had to be. Nothing. The silence set him on edge.

No answer. Kurt looked at him.”We have to get in.”

Get in? What if Kalle was simply out? He looked at his supervisor and could not help but tease, still trying to dissolve the crushing tension he felt. “I can kick it,” he said, uncrossing his arms and looking earnestly at Kurt. “Do you want me to kick it?” He pressed his lips to stop himself from grinning.

The look his supervisor gave him made it hard for him not to lose it and laugh. He passed him by and went back down, Magnus following.

He was in a far less gaming mood when the concierge told them Kalle had indeed come back the night before but had not be seen leaving this morning. The dark feeling was back with a vengeance and when the man opened the lock with his key, Magnus did not hesitate to take out his gun and take the safety off.

Maybe Kalle was sick?

 _Too sick to answer the door?_ His own mind replied, dryly. _Too sick to answer his phone?_

Fatigue forgotten, he became intensely aware of his environment, training kicking in. As Kurt pushed the door open, softly calling out for Kalle, a faint smell of cleaning products hit his nose. He could see and feel Kurt's solid presence in front of him. He still remembered how scared he had been when Kurt had narrowly escaped death by bullet thanks to a rug.

He would never let that happen again.

The place was dimly lit, quiet, except for Kurt's voice calling for Kalle with an increasing level of urgency. He followed Wallander closely, opening a door as he went. It was the bathroom and it was empty. Although he got a whiff or something flowery and expensive. Definitely not something Kalle would wear. He continued and was about to ask Kurt if he really thought Kalle was here when the man jumped with a cry of “Jesus!”

Magnus automatically raised his gun.

It took him a few second to make sense of what he was seeing.

Kalle, lying there.

Kalle, with a gory hole in his head.

Kalle, dead.

Kalle.

It did not make sense. Kalle had been with them. He had talked. He had looked sad and resigned and alive. He had been nice and helpful and fascinated by the oddest thing.

Just a body. Cold. Lips parted. Arms and legs lifeless.

A body Magnus had felt against his own. Lips he had kissed. Hands that had caressed him.

But Kalle could not be dead. He just could not be.

There was a splatter of blood on the wall. Kalle had his eyes closed. He had known what was coming.

He finally realised Kurt was talking to him.

“Go on,” Kurt said, gently. He looked too calm, too quiet, when Magnus' insides were boiling, when he felt too close to bursting, when his skin felt too tight.

He swallowed. Red alert. Right. They had to... do something. Call people.

He holstered his gun and turned away from the horrible scene.

He called Lisa first. She stayed quiet for a long time after his “Kalle's dead, Lisa... He was shot in the head.” Then she told him to stay put, she would send a unit to them, and Nyberg. As she hung up, he wondered if he should be the one to tell Anne-Britt. But he found he could not. Lisa would. She would find the words that Magnus could not muster.

He went back upstairs. Kurt had not moved. He was watching Kalle's body, his eyes empty. Magnus could not force himself to do the same. Instead, he raised a hand and pressed it to Kurt's back in silent comfort. He was surprised when his supervisor reached back, gripped it and pressed it. But Kurt said nothing. They stayed like this for a long while and it was not until they heard the sirens and heavy steps on the stairs that Magnus let go and went to meet their colleagues at the door.

After that, there was a flurry of activity around the crime scene. Nyberg was examining the body and the others were busy collecting evidence. Magnus waited outside, unable still to fully apprehend the situation. Kalle Svedberg was gone. They would not see each other again. There would be no more gossiping, no more talk about Native American cultures... no more hook up.

Not that he had planned for more, but...

He closed his eyes and tried to stop the wave of nausea that gripped him.

“Paisley sheets,” Kurt said and Magnus looked up, beyond the heads of the uniforms.

“Is that significant,” he heard Nyberg asked.

“It just makes me... incredibly sad. That's all.”

Kurt was crying. Magnus frowned, feeling as lost as his supervisor looked. He wanted to reach for him again but stopped himself. What would they say, if they knew? He wondered, completely out of the blue, or character for that matter. Since when did he care?

 

* * *

 

Lisa wanted a memorial of sort. Magnus had no objection, but at the same time, he wanted nothing more than be away from them, from this. He looked at the candle, barely listening to what she was saying. Something about Kalle being family.

Kalle was not family. Kalle was...

He did not know what Kalle was. He did not know who Kalle was. Even if he had a better understanding of that than any of the people gathered here.

They were interrupted by a uniform. Anne-Britt went to talk to him. She came back and told them about Kalle's next of kin. Magnus did not know the name. Kalle had never talked about her, not to him anyway. Not to anyone at work, apparently.

Then again, Magnus never talked about his parents, or his siblings. Why would Kalle?

 

* * *

 

Magnus took care of the minor tasks while the other tried to find a possible motive for Kalle's murder. For once, he had been the one to ask for it. He was not sure he could handle Kalle's case just yet. He stayed late, trying to reach all of Kalle's neighbour. They basically all said the same thing. Nobody came to visit Kalle, he was the quiet type. They had not heard anything the night he was murdered.

Why would anyone want to kill Svedberg? Magnus tried to remember what he had felt when Kalle was still around, distant, preoccupied. What was it that had him so on edge?

 _Why did you not come to me, Kalle,_ he thought, feeling righteously furious until he realised it was his guilt talking. Of course Kalle did not come to him, after what had happened between them. And he did not go to Kalle when he had the chance. _I thought it could wait till the next day,_ he added, suddenly miserable and sad, _I thought it could wait and it couldn't._

The horrible thought that, if he had gone to Svedberg, if he had talked to him, asked him what was wrong he might still be alive, that thought obsessed him, haunted him, would not leave him alone.

“Magnus, you're still here?”

He looked up. Kurt was standing in front of his desk. The last time he had seen his supervisor, he was sitting next to Kalle's memorial candle, staring at it. It had felt uncomfortably close, so he had not dared approach the man.

He nodded silently. The whole office was dark. He had seen Anne-Britt leaving some time earlier. She had waved at him, looking small and sad. The cocker-spaniel face on, so to speak.

“Go home,” Kurt ordered softly, almost too low for Magnus to hear.

“Kurt...” he murmured in reply and the smile he received in return was even worse than tears.

“There's nothing more to be done here tonight.”

He could not really argue with that, but he wanted to stay nonetheless. Partly because of Kurt, partly because he was scared to find himself in his home, alone with his own thoughts. Yet, Kurt took his jacket, so it seemed probable he was going home too. Magnus followed suit.

 

* * *

 

“...and he was asleep right where we found poor Kalle Svedberg's body. I'm telling you, it damn well freaked me out!”

Magnus turned towards the voices, his coffee mug forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Who was,” he asked and was gratified to see the two uniforms, Peters and Noren, jump at his question. They both turned towards him at the same time, with a guilty expressions on their faces. He raised his eyebrows.

“Wallander,” Peters eventually said between gritted teeth.

 _Kurt?_ He thought, feeling completely disconcerted. Then, he wondered why he was. After all, it was Kurt Wallander they were talking about. If anyone were do such an incredibly stupid, disturbing thing, it had to be Kurt.

“And then,” he asked, crossing his arms, “what did he do?”

Peters looked more and more uncomfortable.

“Er, took a piss and had some water. The he removed a painting. Rummaged around a bit. Then he left.”

“Magnus!”

Kurt's voice broke their exchange and had him jump a little. Kurt looked half-dead, properly half dead. He waved him over. Magnus grabbed his cup of coffee, glared rather unfairly at the two officers and followed him.

Wallander showed them some ID pictures of a blond woman and one larger, printed scene of the “missing” kids. Plus another girl. Were they really missing after all? As the woman who had screamed at Svedberg had said they were?

Anne-Britt commented she did not know Kalle had a girlfriend and Magnus kept his mouth shut. He knew Kalle could not have a girlfriend. The man hardly knew the word bisexual never mind anything else. And anyway, what man would keep pictures of his girlfriend carefully hidden behind a painting, inside a taped paper, where he could not look at them easily, when he hardly ever had anyone over to hide them from. Even if he wanted to keep the relationship a secret – and a secret from whom, since, again, nobody ever visited him – that was rather far-stretched.

And it was a girl, Kalle would not have kept a girl secret. If he had been into girls and not into Wallander, as it were. On the contrary, she would have made a perfect alibi for the closeted man.

The woman Kalle was speaking to the day before he died burst in, ready apparently for another shouting match, and Magnus courageously fled the scene. He could hardly process his grief, and Kurt's, he could not deal with anyone else's. Especially a distraught mother they could tell nothing new to.

He stole a glance, once in a while, at the blond woman. She was panicked, muscles tensed, like a warrior. He wondered if his own mother would have come for him, had he disappeared. Would she, like this woman, have suspected something foul, despite getting postcards, allegedly from him, from all around Europe? Or would she have been like the other two parents, calling the third one hysterical for worrying? Would she have even cared? His father would not have, that was for sure. He would have said Magnus was a bloody maverick and could not be trusted and was probably frolicking somewhere.

And who was the third girl in the picture? Where were her parents? Was she missing like the boy and the other two girls? Were they missing at all?

He looked over at Kalle’s desk, now empty. If Kalle had suspected anything, why not tell them, why…?

Why?

He felt like an iron fist was closing around his heart. He got up and went to the bathroom, dry heaving above the sink.

When he came back, the mother was gone.

At Kurt's order, he started trying to reach the only girl of the kids group they knew to still be around, Isa Edengren.

“Have you known Svedberg to tell a lie,” Kurt was asking Anne-Britt while he waited on the phone.

 _And then some_ , he thought, listening to the empty rings.

“No. I always though you got what you saw,” Anne-Britt replied, with incredible naivety.

But was that really naivety? Magnus had been none the wiser until Copenhagen. Kalle was an amazing liar. Well, Kalle had not lied, _per se_ , had he? At most he had kept his secrets... secret.

Kurt wanted to do all the legwork by himself and, at other times, that would have angered Magnus quite a bit. Right now, he was grateful. He needed the time to get the image of Kalle's body out of his head. To get over the nausea he felt when thinking about his former partner and colleague. He watched Kurt leave and sat back at his desk.

“You okay, Magnus?”

He looked up at Anne-Britt and her cocker-spaniel face, and could not find it in him to deal with her and her compassion. He kept expecting Kalle to join them with coffee and gossips, or comforting silent mopping.

“Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Sure.”

She did not look convinced, but at least she left him alone. He turned on his computer and checked his mails. The last message Kalle sent him was to ask him details about a petty thief they had apprehended together. It seemed so useless, so meaningless that this would be Kalle's last words to him. He closed his mail box and looked at the candle that was still burning on their meeting table.

In his head, the image of Kalle just before they had kissed and the image of the lifeless body overlapped. He realised with a start that Kalle had known he would die. There was no precise detail or clues which would prove it, but he just knew. Kalle had sat there, had watched his killer in the eye as they had pressed the gun to his head. He had closed his eyes and waited for the shot. He had not fought back, had not been surprised. He had known.

The next thing he was aware of was leaning over a toilet, vomiting.

 

* * *

 

That night he dreamt he was with Kalle and stopped the killer, saved him, and then Kalle looked at him, eyes cold and dead and he felt that the man resented him.

He woke up shivering and feeling ashamed. It was his guilt, he thought, drinking greedily from his bedside's bottle of water.

If he had asked Kalle what was wrong, if he had cared more...

“You don't care about anyone but yourself!”

He could remember his mother saying that to him as his father glared at him from behind her. He closed his eyes with a painful grimace. He put the bottle aside. It made no sense to feel guilty now. “What ifs” would not change what had happened. Maybe he could have saved Kalle, maybe not. He would never know.

He was about to go back to sleep when his phone rang again.

“Magnus? It's Anne-Britt. Kurt found the girl, she tried to kill herself. He's at the hospital. Can you go check on things? I'd go but...”

“Sure.”

Anne-Britt was a mother, with young children and a husband. He was a sad sod with only his pillow for company.

Fuck all this.

Suicide.

Whenever he heard the word, it would send a shiver deep into his bones. One he could not talked about.

 

* * *

 

He entered the hospital, feeling a bone-deep weariness. He went to the young guy at the reception and realised he did not remember the name of the girl. Shit.

“I'm looking for Detective Wallander,” he tried and the guy smiled. Come to think of it, he looked more like a doctor than a secretary or a nurse. The stethoscope should have been a dead give away, but what could he say? He was dead on his feet.

“Oh, you're family?”

Magnus looked at him blankly. _What?_

“Er. No. I'm his colleague. Detective Martinsson.”

He showed the man his badge.

The man nodded. “Well, at any rate, he's fine. He should come to soon. He's in number... 7, I think.”

“What... Wait, I'm sorry? Is he hospitalised?” He asked, paling suddenly. Surely he had misunderstood? Kurt only brought the girl, right? A suicide attempt, why would he have been hurt? Anne-Britt had not said...

The man shook his head. “Oh, no. Just a fainting spell. He passed out in the corridor.”

 _For Fuck's Sake, Kurt!_ Magnus scowled.

“And the girl he brought?”

“She's fine, detective. But it was a close call. She's still under.”

Magnus nodded distractedly and, following the doctor's indications, walked to Kurt's room. He stopped outside, looking through the open door, only getting the end of the conversation.

“HONC” Wallander was saying, disbelieving.

“Yeah. This should give you a clearer picture,” the doc said, handing him a brochure, “and there's dietary information in there as well.”

The tone the doctor used reminded Magnus of a patient teacher dealing with a stubborn child.

“HONC,” Wallander repeated. He sounded resigned.

The doc turned and suddenly realised someone was there. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Magus opened his mouth but Wallander beat him to it.

“Magnus? What are you doing here? I didn't call you.”

He did not sound angry though. He sounded almost... relieved.

“No,” Magnus replied softly, “but Anne-Britt did. She told me about the girl.”

Kurt nodded and got up slowly.

“Are you...” Magnus hesitated, glancing at the doctor before looking back at Wallander, “are you all right?”

“Yes. I have something called HONC, apparently.”

There was some measure of humour in his voice and the relief Magnus felt was absurdly strong.

“HONC,” he repeated a smile forming on his lips. Wallander shrugged. “What's that?”

“Something to do with, well... diabetes.” The distaste in Kurt's voice was very audible.

The younger man tensed anew. He looked at the doctor who shook his head. “Type 2. He'll be fine. As long as he take care of himself and watch his sugar intake.”

“He is fine,” Wallander cut, emphasising on the “he” with an annoyed huff. “Can you go get me a cup of tea, please, Magnus?”

The blond hesitated, too worried to be annoyed at being ordered around and unwilling to leave his supervisor. However, reluctantly, he obeyed after the doctor had given him Isa's room number.

When he brought the tea, Wallander was exiting the girl's room, looking both exhausted and frustrated. He took the cup and started walking towards the hospital's front door, forcing Magnus to stumble after him.

“What did she say?”

“Not much.”

He did not manage to get anything else from Wallander and they drove to the Station, each in his own car. They had barely gotten in when Magnus received a call. He saw Wallander enter his office, soon followed by Anne-Britt. The pang he felt he squashed mercilessly. This was not the time or place for petty jealousy. If Anne-Britt could help Kurt feel better, then so be it.

Once he was done coordinating the small intervention to retrieve a cow, of all things, that had escaped in the countryside, he hang up and was about to turn on his computer when he saw Kurt storming out of the Station. He glanced at Anne-Britt. She pursed her lips.

“They think they've found the kids,” she said, and her tone was enough for him to understand they would soon have to deal with the despair of three more families.

 

* * *

 

It had been as awful as they knew it would be. Magnus had held one of the mothers as she wailed in horror, unable to contain the force of her grief. She kept screaming her daughter's name as if she could bring her back until her voice broke and she simply cried against his chest. He had talked to her, softly, trying to comfort someone who would never be comforted. Her husband had fallen into a chair, eyes wide and lost, lips moving without producing any sound.

Anne-Britt had almost burst into tears herself at some point and he had not been far behind. They spared the parents from looking directly at the bodies, even when they asked for it. Only one of the fathers insisted and so Magnus took him to the morgue. He watched, as the tall man dissolved into dry tears and chocked groans, put a hand on his shoulder as he heaved and suffocated on his sobbing half-formed pleas for the coroner to cover the decayed body of his son.

When the ordeal was finally over, when they had brought the families back home, registered their declarations and dealt with the paperwork, Magnus felt empty. Utterly and completely empty. Anne-Britt and Lisa did not fare any better. The three of them were sitting around the meeting table, looking blankly at the three cups of coffee Lisa had poured for them.

That was where Kurt found them when he came back from seeing the only survivor, Isa, at the hospital. He related to them what she had said, that she had been supposed to go with them, but had a stomach bug stopped her at the last minute. That had in all probability saved the life she tried to take later. Kurt did not seem to suspect her of the murders.

Magnus put his hands behind his head, trying to comprehend what Svedberg had been doing. He felt irrationally angry at the man for not sharing his burden with them, for forcing them into this wordless charade, when he obviously knew who the killer was. Knew them. Knew them enough to let them kill him without opposing any resistance.

That deduction, that certitude he had, Magnus kept to himself. He did not know why, but he was reluctant to share it with the others.

“Could it be...?” Lisa finally asked, after a moment. She trailed off but they all knew what she implied.

“Can't have been Svedberg,” Kurt denied, frustrated.

On that point, Magnus agreed. He could not see Svedberg as a killer. Not Kalle. Not the man with gentle hands and brooding solitude. And certainly not in such a premeditated, cold manner. Not some teenagers, whose only crime was to have had a secret picnic on Midsummer’s Eve.

“If he'd... If he'd killed them, why go around asking exactly – exactly – the same questions that we've been asking!”

It made sense. At any rate, it made more sense than Kalle killing three kids playing dress up in the woods for no reason. Then again, there were many things which did not make sense in this case.

Louise, for a start.

“But... He knew something was wrong. Something made him suspicious about these kids.”

“But he did not share it,” Lisa noted.

Magnus sighed inwardly. When one was used to keeping secrets... it became a habit, a protection, hard to break. He knew that intimately.

Wallander made a frustrated hand gesture.

“But I mean... It looks like there's something in all this that he... didn't want to come out... something in his own life that...”

 _Come out_. The wording rang in Magnus' ears with remarkable quality. But it sounded absurd. This could not have anything to do with Svedberg's homosexuality, could it? With his love for Kurt? That did not make any sort of sense. On one hand, Kalle’s penchants, on the other three dead kids in the wood.

He realised Kurt was looking at him and started a bit, trying to remember what he had been asked.

“What exactly did we know about him? Outside of work?”

 _He liked to fuck guys and was hopelessly in love with you?_ Magnus replied silently watching as Lisa hid her shame inside her cup of coffee and Anne-Britt looked guiltily at the table. It seemed they all had a hard time admitting how little they knew about Svedberg, a man they had worked with for years.

Magnus folded his arms protectively against his chest. He did not blame them. He had come a little closer to Kalle than they had only because they often got paired up and because Magnus had been intrigued by the guy's odd interests. Then, of course, Copenhagen happened. But if Svedberg had fought this hard to keep his secret, Magnus would not betray that.

 _Or yourself_ , a snide little voice whispered in his mind, _are you sure your doing it for Kalle's benefits? Or because you're scared they'll find out about you? Scared_ he _will find out about you?_

Kurt looked desperate, so Magnus intervened.

“You know, he used to say something, when we were working on that dope's money racket, couple summers back? He said: “You should always stop, every now and then, and look behind you” Back over your shoulder, like the Indians.”

He could almost hear Kalle correcting him – “Native Americans!” – from beyond the grave. It had not really made sense at the time and it hardly made sense now. But it had seemed important to Svedberg. If he concentrated enough, he could recall the man’s face, sombre and hard, as he looked into their rear-view mirror.

“Indians?” Kurt asked with incredulity.

“Yeah, you know, American Indians. He was quite into them.”

He suddenly remembered Kalle had said the same thing in Copenhagen. When they were discussing in the bar. Magnus was already pretty drunk, but the older man had been... rather intent. Why could people not just speak plainly, for fuck's sake!

“He was into Indians?” Lisa asked.

How could they not know that? That was one of the few things Kalle actually talked about, what with the vengeful kid's case and all?

“Well, he had books about them.”

And talked to the cultural societies via emails. Had a few pen-pals in the US too. But he could not elaborate before Kurt asked, rather bluntly.

“And what would we see?”

“I'm sorry, when,” Magnus asked, confused.

He knew he had made a mistake when Kurt's voice became biting.

“If we looked over our shoulders, like the bloody Indians?”

 _What the Hell do I know?_ Magnus thought, but scrambled for an answer. At the time of the dope case, Kalle was talking about one of the dealers they had almost not identified, hidden as his name was amongst the long list of witnesses. They had given up on finding any leads and Kalle had said they should stop and looked behind them, for...

“Someone who shouldn't be there.”

The phone ringing almost covered his answer and Kurt's frustrated question.

“Christ! What does that mean?”

“I don't know,” Magnus pleaded, “I'm just telling you what he used to say!”

Lisa looked confused and Kurt just a step from punching the table in anger. He turned away from Magnus and the feeling that he had disappointing the man yet again was like a physical slap on the face. He passed a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself.

Just in time for another catastrophe apparently. The girl, Isa, had disappeared from her room. They hurried to the hospital and the doctor informed them of the circumstances while Kurt made it plain he did not believe she had left on her own.

Magnus took a look at the staircase, but there was no traces of fighting or anything similar. He went back to here Kurt declare they should have kept an eye on her. His blood ran cold. What if the girl got killed, right under their noses, like Svedberg?

“Svedberg was right, keep looking over your shoulder,” Kurt said, interrupting Magnus’ morbid thoughts, as he walked rapidly towards the exit, “we need to find her, and quickly! We might not be the only ones looking for her now!”

Magnus gave her description to the Station but when he tried to call Kurt, he could not get a hold on him. Why did the man have to go everywhere by himself, for Christ's sake!

What if the killer wanted more than just Isa?

It was obvious that whoever they were chasing was dangerous... and linked to Svedberg somehow. Meaning that... Kurt could be a target too.

He came back to the Station to coordinate the search and a few hours latter, he saw, with relief, Wallander come back, Anne-Britt following him like the cocker-spaniel he compared her to. Why was Kurt keeping him away, now of all cases?

He gritted his teeth but went back to the search. There was no time for grievance, not when a suicidal teen was missing.

He saw them come and go through the Station and turned towards the desk next to him to comment about it to… Svedberg. He gritted his teeth. Up until he was gone he had not realised how much having Kalle around meant.

“You can't go up there now! It's a four hours drive! She could be anywhere!”

Magnus watched, from the shadow, as Anne-Britt tried to stop Kurt from acting rashly and, again, all on his own.

“I'm going to find her!

“It's ridi...”

“Svedberg thought he could count on me!” Kurt cut with a harsh sweep of his arm. “I didn't realise, didn't listen! I'm not making the same mistake again!”

“Kurt, it's not your fault!”

That stopped him dead on his tracks and he turned to look at Anne-Britt. Magnus frowned at how distraught he looked. Evidently, he did not believe her, and Magnus was not sure he disagreed. Obviously, Kalle had tried to talk to Kurt, multiple times, and the man had ignored him, like he ignored all of them... Well, most of them. Before Kalle's death, he had started listening to Magnus, talking to him, in a way that was both new and heart warming.

It seemed Kalle's death had put an end to that, though. Now Kurt was back to almost never talking to them about what he was doing, and when he was, it was to Anne-Britt alone.

Magnus figured he finally understood why. At least partly. Sure, Anne-Britt was his protégée in a way Magnus never had been, ever since she came in, but it was not just that.

While he... had a lot of affection for Kurt, he was not about to forgive or excuse everything the man did. Anne-Britt was. It was very possible that Kurt instinctively knew that and protected himself against the few hard truths Magnus would not hesitate to throw at him. Especially with his over-active running mouth.

But the fact that Kurt, and himself, might be partially responsible for this situation, for Kalle’s death, did not change the fact that they needed to do something about it. He only wished Kurt would let him help…

When Kurt was gone he walked to Anne-Britt.

“Where is he going?” He asked calmly. She turned her worried, tired doggy eyes towards him. “To a property Isa’s parents got on Barnso island. He thinks Isa’s there, because Svedberg went there too.”

As far as clue went, this was pretty thin. That would imply Isa had not been kidnapped and actually chose to go back there. It also meant that Kurt was desperate.

“I’m worried about him,” she continued, shaking her head. “He’s grasping at straws, he thinks Svedberg’s talking to him, he won’t let us help. He doesn’t realise...”

“When has he ever realised,” Magnus cut wryly.

She blinked.

“That’s not fair...”

“Isn’t it?”

She did not reply and they both looked at Kurt’s desk in silence.

 

* * *

 

They thought they had a lead on “Louise” but it turned out to be nothing.

Well, worst than nothing.

The blond they interrogated, who looked nothing like the picture – Magnus wanted to throttle whatever “concerned citizen” had them running about for nothing – turned out to be a Human Rights advocate with a severe anti-police stance and the thing started to go viral. Whatever that was intended or not, and while the killer became the monster under everyone’s bed, the police lost yet another bit of credibility and good will.

Lisa was panicking and wanted to call in reinforcement from Stockholm. While usually Magnus would be all over that – more people meant they could at least get one night sleep every two days – he was not sure what help they could provide on Kalle’s case. After all, they were essentially stumped. And you could not call reinforcement to have them do paperworks or work on shoplifting, assurance frauds, car trafficking cases of doom, or missing cows and drunken bar fights.

He saw Anne-Britt on the phone from the corner on his eyes and turned his attention wholly to her when he saw her hang up with a long sigh, which was the Anne-Britt equivalent of a scream of frustration for a normally red-bloodied person.

He wanted to ask her about it – it had to be Kurt – but his phone rang and he had to yet again divert another call from the press. Then he passed on the picture of “Louise” to the Danish police, because, why not? After all, Svedberg had told him he went to Copenhagen from times to times, maybe there was something there.

Then another call from the press and Lisa had become so jumpy she actually broke the floor’s coffee machine.

This was a bloody nightmare!

 

* * *

 

Isa was dead.

She had been shot while Kurt was with her and it was a mess. The man had left her alone, sure they were safe. The killer had come on a stolen boat and as soon as Wallander had his back turned, he had killed the girl and fled under the detective’s nose. How could Kurt let that happen? Why had he not contacted anyone? This was bound to happen at some point or another!

He had left the girl alone for Christ's sake! Knowing she was in danger!

Magnus slammed his fist into his car's door with a frustrated “Fuck!”.

Kurt's career was at stake for professional misconduct and Magnus was honestly not sure if shielding him this time was an option or even a good idea, even if the idea of Kurt being discharged made him sick. He opened the door and sat at the wheel, fingers drumming on the plastic.

And even after he had called for back-up, finally, Kurt had left and disappeared for the rest of the day, only to come back to the Station the next morning. He had left them to clean his mess, as per usual!

He bit his lip and punched the wheel. Finally decided, he exited the car and quickly entered the Station. He did not stop, even when Peters tried to get his attention.

He burst into Kurt's office with righteous fury.

“What the Hell were you even thinking,” he screamed at an amazed Kurt Wallander and a no less surprised Anne-Britt. They had been sitting on the sofa and seeing them so close only exacerbated his anger.

“Magnus...” Anne-Britt started but he ignored her.

“He was after her, you knew he was after her and you did as you always do! You went on your own, you ignored every protocols and you just... you just... You always do that! She should still be alive!”

“Magnus!” Cried Anne-Britt, alarmed and indignant.

He ignored her again. His ire had only one target and he was not going to stay silent this time.

“You think you could have done better?” Kurt asked, getting up slowly. He was getting angry too, Magnus had no difficulty seeing it. Whether it was to shield his guilt remained to be seen. Magnus somehow hoped it was, because this time, this time it truly was Kurt’s fault.

“By following the God-damn protocols yes! By not leaving her alone, for Fuck's sake!”

Kurt turned around his desk to face Magnus directly and while the young man was taller, the older man’s bulkier stature made up for it.

“She needed to be somewhere she felt safe enough to talk!”

“Safe! Ha! I’m sure she feels safe now, in the morgue!”

“Get out!” Kurt screamed, pointing at the door.

Magnus gritted his teeth but obeyed, teeming with anger and adrenaline. He slammed the door behind him and walked to his desk, slamming his hands onto it. He consciously tried not to look at the candle, long extinct but still on the same spot, and remember why he felt so on edge. Guilt. Rage. Both. His guilt and Kurt's mistake...

 _She was suicidal_ , he tried to tell himself, blocking Isa's face from his mind, _without Kurt she'd have died in that garden house._ _The killer was already after her, he stole the boat before Kurt left, so he would have killed her either way._ _And if he hadn’t, she was still suicidal. She had lost her closest friends days ago._ _She'd probably have tried again sometimes and succeeded._ _Like Kristof..._

He stopped the thought right there and blinked. He remembered Dolorès and suddenly felt completely defeated. What was even the point? All those young lives, snatched away. Brutality, murder, sex-trafficking, neglect, left behind by a society who only wanted “winners” and the white and rich...

He fell on his chair, his anger unable to cover his grief any longer. He waited for sometimes, eyes lost in space. Nobody came to talk or inquire. Anne-Britt and Kurt were still in Kurt's office, Lisa was trying to salvage whatever she could from Kurt's blunder and Kalle… Kalle was gone. He wanted someone to talk to, anyone.

 _I want Kurt_ , he thought, bitterly, mocking himself.

And it was true. Kurt would know, without him needing to say anything. As he did with Dolorès’ scarf. Magnus did not want to apologize, he felt he had no reason to, nor to share his feelings, he could not. But with Kurt he would not need to do either.

If only...

Maybe he should ask for a transfer, away from all this? Away from Kurt and his ways and the way he hurt Magnus without even knowing it or caring about it....

But not before they found Kalle's killer.

He had failed the man in life, he would not failed him in death.

He got up and left, without informing anyone. Let Kurt know how that felt for once.

 

* * *

 

“There's nothing new, you know,” the medical officer said in a tone both puzzled and slightly bored.

Magnus sent him an icy look and the man had the grace to look slightly guilty when he realised Magnus had, indeed, worked with the man now lying between them. Nyberg was still examining Isa’s body and Magnus did not know that one. Probably a newbie.

“I'll just... leave you. Just... well, call when you're done,” the man said hastily, before leaving the morgue, the door shutting with a metallic clang behind him.

Magnus took a couple of deep breath and took the cloth off Kalle Svedberg's face. His skin was a strange shade of white-grey, accentuated by the crude neon light, and his eyes were closed. His lips were similarly coloured. He looked like a statue. Even the gory hole on his forehead was clean and ash-like.

Magnus bit the inside of his lips.

“I'm sorry,” he finally whispered, voice harsh, scratchy from tears that would not fall. “I'm so sorry, Kalle.”

He searched for his hand and it was so cold, Magnus' long fingers retracted for a moment, before sliding between Kalle's completely inert ones. The felt like soft marble, nothing like the gentle, hot, slightly sweaty palms that had slid along his body, gripped his waist.

 _You called me a “pretty thing”_ , he remembered, but did not say. You never knew who might be listening even below the ground in that tomb of a room.

It felt important, but he could not see why. There was something else. Something Kalle had told him that was important too.

It came to him, rather suddenly. Louise. Louise did not make sense. Not in any way Magnus could understand. Yet he now remembered Kalle's voice whispering “You're really sweet and sour, aren't you... Just like Louise...”

Louise was someone important to Kalle. Someone he was intimate with, in a very sexual sense. And that... that did not make sense at all.

“What were you trying to say, Svedberg,” he asked softly, “what were you scared of?”

He licked his lips and pressed his eyes shut. He had not cried in years, not since he was a child. No reason to start again now.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm asking myself the same question, over and over again,” a voice cut through Magnus' sorrow. He knew it well and he raised his head to look at Kurt Wallander, standing in the doorway.

His supervisor looked stern, feverish, exhausted and defeated all at once. Yet he stood tall, as if readying himself for battle. He was very obviously not looking at Kalle's corpse.

“He wanted to tell you,” he said, acrimoniously. He was past being protective of Kurt's feelings. There was so much bitterness and anger between them now, he thought sadly. Would things ever come back to what they were before? Before Kalle? Before Isa? “You just didn't care to listen.”

Wallander took the blow with a wince and a lowering of his head, forlorn. He took a few step forwards. Magnus belatedly realised what he was still doing and discretely dropped the hand that was holding Kalle's. Kurt did not comment, but he got a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach that this had not escaped his supervisor' trained eyes.

“I know,” the older man said, and, for a moment, Magnus wondered if he knew about he and Kalle, heart beating slightly faster. “I know I should have listened to him. I should have... I'm not... I don't listen enough. To any of you.”

Relived, Magnus nonetheless slightly opened his mouth in surprise. He had not expect Kurt to actually make that kind of self-reflection any time soon, or at all really.

“You were right, about Isa. I just... I thought...” Kurt trailed off and stopped, not looking at Kalle or Magnus, but at the wall of freezers.

“I didn't say that to hand you a stick to beat yourself up with,” Magnus cut, rather more harshly than he intended, especially since Kurt apparently wanted to make peace somehow. “I want you to realise what you're doing and why what happened to Isa is going to keep happening if you don't start following the rules a little. Or at least, trusting us to help you break them. To help you. Not just when it's convenient for you!”

Kurt glanced at him and he saw the guilt there, but refused to back down.

“I'm tired of your endless streak of self-pity,” he continued. After all, he had not only crossed the line, but got rid of it entirely. If Kurt wanted to have him transferred or doing paperwork forever for it, so be it. He would have said what needed to be said, at least. He owed Kalle and Isa that much. “Start taking responsibility for yourself and act on it. Make sure there's not another Isa!”

Wallander finally turned towards him completely and, once again, the nakedness of his emotions took Magnus by surprise. He could read Kurt like a book. The man was so open.

He almost lost that. The thought that Kurt… He suddenly understood the rage had also come from a deeper, darker fear.

“You could have died with her,” he found himself saying, unable once again to stop his running mouth. “Kurt, you could have... and I can't...”

He was the one to turn his eyes away this time, looking at Kalle's inexpressive face instead. He felt Kurt move but did not look up until the other man's hand was on his arm.

“If he'd wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now,” Kurt said calmly and Magnus frowned, strangely glad for the distraction from all the feelings battling inside him. He had not considered that. “He left me alive for a reason.”

Kurt's touch was comforting, solid. For the first time that day, Magnus let some of his anger drain off him.

“You think he wanted you to... what? Find Isa dead?”

Feel guilty about it? Could it be that this, all of this, was about Kurt somehow?

Kalle, Louise, Kurt, Magnus...

Like a strange ballet with an invisible choreographer.

“Perhaps,” Kurt replied, still loosely holding Magnus' forearm. It should have felt weird, except it did not.

They stayed like that for a while, Wallander looking at the wall, Magnus looking at Svedberg, pressed against each other, far too close for two grown men who were not friend, two colleagues, to be.

“She was lovely,” Kurt said eventually, “Isa, I mean. She was desperately alone, but she was lovely and she had a beautiful laugh...”

His voice broke a little at the end. Magnus pressed his own hand over Kurt's, looking at the older man, eyes growing soft. No matter Kurt’s responsibility, he had still found the girl, hold her… One moment alive, the next dead. A senseless death, a young life snatched away.

“I wanted to save her,” Kurt was crying now and Magnus closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the older man’s, “from herself. I wanted her to live... Not to give up... My daughter...”

He stopped there, but Magnus caught was he was not saying. Horrified, he tried to picture Linda Wallander in Isa's place, on a hospital bed, stomach being pumped to save her life... He pressed his supervisor' hand harder. No wonder the man had acted so irrationally in front of it all… It was like reliving it. And Magnus knew to well, understood too well, what it meant, to lose someone to their own hand.

Worse, still, you own child. That, he could only imagine. And he did not want to.

“And instead I killed her,” Kurt finished in a whisper.

“No, you didn't,” Magnus cut, this time looking straight at Kurt's face, wet from tears. He would not let Kurt say that. “You may have made a mistake, many mistakes, but you didn't pull the trigger. The killer did. We've got to stop that guy. Girl. Whatever.”

Kurt swallowed harshly and it seemed to Magnus he was avoiding looking at him, instead, finally, finally, his eyes fell on Kalle's face. There was another silence, and Magnus wanted to wrap his arms around Kurt, but their hands were still entwined on his arm.

“She said Svedberg was gay,” Wallander remarked, off-handedly.

 _Perceptive gir_ l, Magnus thought. A shame, really. Such a fucking waste!

“But that doesn't make sense,” Kurt continued, oblivious, “he showed her the picture of Louise. He told his cousin she was his girlfriend. She had to be important to him.”

Right. Back to the part where Louise did not make sense.

“Do you... do you think he was...? Gay, I mean?” Kurt asked hesitantly.

Magnus made a conscious effort not to flinch and cooled his featured into casual indifference.

“How the Hell should I know?”

“I should have known,” Kurt said sombrely, “one way or the other. He said... he said I was his best friend and I did not know a thing about him.”

It was one of the rare times he was glad Kurt was very self-absorbed, especially when he was in turmoil. Because the natural response “well, you were partners and you came all the way down here to ask for his forgiveness” could have given him away. But Wallander was still wallowing in his own guilt, so he did not care for Magnus' or his reasons for it.

The door opened and they separated, far too quickly. But it did not matter, since a stretcher was the first thing to enter the room, followed by Nyberg pushing it.

“Oh, you're here?” he said, dumbly, blinking owlishly at his two colleagues. “We've just finished the girl's autopsy, nothing surprising and he didn't leave any trace, as per usual and....”

He trailed off when he saw which freezer they had opened.

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“That's all right,” Magnus eventually said smoothly, while Kurt turned away to dry his tears quickly. “We were just leaving.”

He put the cloth back on Kalle and pushed him back into the freezer.

 

* * *

 

They went back at the Station and separated, Anne-Britt immediately going to Kurt, probably to worry and fuss. Magnus ignored it and went back to his desk. He worked on for a while, finding it difficult to concentrate. He almost jumped when the call came.

From Copenhagen. From a bar.

Not the bar. Not the same bar he had be to with Kalle. Thank God for small mercies.

But still, a bar, somewhere to look. Maybe some answer. Finally.

“It looks like we've got a positive ID on Louise,” he said, walking decisively towards Wallander and Anne-Britt. They both looked up from the sofa they were quietly discussing in.

He crouched before them.

“Copenhagen!” He announced.

“Copenhagen,” Kurt repeated, surprised.

Of course, the Danish police and press had been their initiative, Kurt did not know about it.

“Yeah, I released her picture to the Danish press,” Anne-Britt pitched in, “I thought that's what you wanted.”

Magnus nodded. Anne-Britt had been the one to pitch the idea and it was not the time to have “who is the better second” competition.

“So, we got a couple sighing that matched up: the first one is a guy who thinks he's seen her a few times at a bar in Central Station, second one is a cab driver.”

Kurt sighed. “Please, God, give us a break...”

Magnus nodded, wanting to reach for the older man’s shoulder. Instead, they all got up, and started to organise the net they would need to finally catch the elusive Louise.

 

* * *

 

As it happened, Magnus was not invited at that party either. Kurt went on his own, again, and he was stuck behind with Anne-Britt. He boiled on the inside but said nothing. He wanted to see the girl. He wanted to understand. He felt it was his duty, his right. After Kalle... After what happened that night...

He shook his head, waiting with Lisa and Anne-Britt to hear some good news.

 

* * *

 

They never came. “Louise” had escaped. Only “Louise” was not really “Louise”. Not in the usual sense anyway.

“Wiped the make-up off in the toilet, lost the wig, fixed the clothes... Walked straight off as a man.” Kurt explained slowly, after asking Magnus to use his Photoshopping skills to transform “Louise”'s face back into a more masculine face. It had worked remarkably well.

_You're a pretty thing..._

Svedberg had told him, in a strange way. He just had not been understanding what that meant. But how many times had he looked at “Louise”'s picture, wondering why she existed, telling himself she did not make sense? He should have seen it.

He should have seen it.

Still, he said nothing.

“But surely you must have glimpsed at him walking out of the toilets,” he protested instead, “I mean, if you were watching.”

Magnus would have been watching. Magnus would have known. This was his scene, and he knew it well. But Kurt had to go and act alone, as always.

His scene. And Svedberg’s. And...

“Svedberg was shagging a tranny... Wow!” He found himself saying and immediately wanted to slap himself for it. First, because that was utterly transphobic, second, because “Louise” was perhaps more of a drag-queen than a transgender person, third, because... because that was disrespectful of Kalle, and what that “Louise”, man and/or woman, had. Whatever it was.

_Such a pretty thing..._

He felt everyone's disapproval like a slap, but a well deserved one. He knew he had said so because it was a way to deflect their attention. A reflex, pure and simple. One he acquired after years with his parents and their comments. A mimesis of sort. A protection.

A very bad, toxic one.

_Such a pretty thing..._

Funny how those things worked. Kalle fucked what he considered effeminate men, or even drag-queens, and he was in love with Kurt Wallander... How sad must he have been. How desperate to be “normal”, to be heterosexual, but of course unable to be. And in love with a man who barely paid him any attention.

He felt his supervisor' eyes on him, disapproving, yes, but sharp too. And he wondered, for a moment, if he had revealed too much. Again.

The phone rang, but none of them moved. He barely managed to muster the will to be annoyed at being the “secretary” again.

“Okay, I’ll get it,” he could not quite keep the annoyance off his voice.

However, after his blunder, he needed to keep a low profile. He answered.

“Ystad Police, Martinsson.”

What he heard made his stomach turn and he felt sick all over again. “Louise” had killed again. Three times. A young couple who had just gotten married hours before and their photographers. It was like “Louise” took the most pleasure in destroying happiness, youth, promises.

The drive to the beach was awful. Anne-Britt, who was riding with him for once, had made a pointed remark about the use of “tranny” Magnus knew he entirely deserved, then had fallen into a disapproving silence. They were all on edge, but the thought he had disappointed his friend when his own opinions on the subject could not be farther from what was said hurt.

The crime scene was every bit as awful. Three shots, with a silencer, on a deserted beach. “Louise” must have come from the water, or they would have been seen. Another carefully planned kill.

 _At least he...she... they kill them quickly,_ Magnus thought, grimly. _As if those people deserved it. They judge them guilty and execute them. No feelings. Just a sentence, carried out._

Except for Svedberg. With Svedberg, it had been intimate. They had watched the man in the eye while pressing the gun to his head. Magnus was now sure of it. It had not come as a surprise. “Louise” had made sure Kalle knew exactly who and why.

_I'll kill you._

The thought came, unbidden, like a flash. Up until now, revenge had never entered his mind. But at that moment, as he watched Kurt walking alone on the beach, shoulders hunched forward, as he saw in his mind Kalle, calmly looking up at his killer, someone he had been close to, as he remembered Kalle's gentle hands on his own body, the parents’ despair, the mother’s screams, Isa, and how it had killed Kurt inside... he could not think of anything else. Revenge.

_I'll kill you, you bastard. I'll watch you die. Just like you watched them die. Just like you watched Kalle die._

Everything Kurt had ever said about violence and murder fled his mind as a cold rage invaded him. What right had this person to snatch all those lives, to take Svedberg's away, and for what?

He forced himself back to the present and called the Station to get the informations he needed on the dead photographer.

“His name is Rolf Haag,” he informed Kurt, “He's got a studio up in Surbrunnen.”

“We have to know if he told anyone else where this was going to be happening,” his supervisor said, rushing to his car. “Come on! We need to move!”

 “Yeah, okay, I'm onto it,” Magnus replied, not even trying to hold Kurt back.

He fought for a moment the deep exhaustion menacing to settle into his bones. His emotions were wrecking havoc but he had to continue. They had to stop “Louise” before anyone else got killed over nothing.

Over nothing...

There had to be a reason. Had to be. Something that made Svedberg suspicious in the first place. Anything.

In the end, even if he found Haag's assistant, Kurt went to talk to her alone, again. It was as if the discussion in the morgue had never taken place and it had Magnus even more on edge.

 

* * *

 

But after what felt like the longest day of the year, they finally found themselves all gathered around a table: Lisa, Anne-Britt, Magnus, Kurt and even Sven.

“He's someone who gets inside other people's lives,” Kurt started slowly, voice even deeper than usual, “without them knowing. Gets behind their masks, their private secrets...”

A little dramatic, but then again, Kurt might be on to something there, Magnus thought. After all, the whole thing had a very dramatic flare. Like a theatre play. Or a ballet. Again.

“The whole thing is a mess of secrets,” Magnus said, his finger toying with his pen, “this dressing up and costumes, the couple on the beach, the kids in the woods and... “Louise”... biggest secret of the lot.”

And probably the only one that mattered too. The others were so innocent in comparison. Four kids who liked to have secret dress-up parties because they were romantic and outcast, a couple who wanted memories of place that belonged only to them, a secret romantic spot.

“How much did Svedberg know then,” Nyberg mumbled into his hand. He looked bored, somehow. But that was Sven’s default expression.

“Well, I think,” Anne-Britt said quickly, cocker-spaniel on a chase face on, “this is all because of Svedberg. He's in love with this guy, this... transvestite, “Louise”, he's ashamed, he wants to end the relationship, “Louise” hates him for it, wants revenge!”

Well, Magnus for one knew there was far, far more to it than that. But he was not ready to announce to the whole room that Svedberg probably wanted “Louise” gone because of Kurt Wallander. And “Louise” probably wanted Svedberg gone for the same reason. Or, for that matter, maybe “Louise” had learned that... well... Svedberg cheated on them with Magnus, and maybe others. But, more likely, this was about Kurt, and Kalle's feelings for him. “Louise” loving a man who loved another, one who would never look at him. A usual, everyday life tragedy.

“So what? He executes seven innocent people,” Nyberg protested.

 _They want Kurt to suffer,_ Magnus thought, but did not say. Nor did he correct his colleagues' usage of pronouns.

“He is a psychopath,” Kurt said sharply, “we know that.”

Maybe. But that was probably oversimplifying the whole thing.

“Okay, we know his secrets now,” Nyberg said, trying to diffuse the tension, “but how did he know theirs? Nobody knew where those people would be...”

Which... was a very good question, actually.

“Except them,” Magnus completed.

“Except them.”

“Then what's his next move,” Lisa asked, as if they had any answer to give her.

“Well, he's not running away, is he,” Kurt replied in an ominous tone of voice, “that's for sure.”

Then he looked... thoughtful, eyes glowing slightly under heavy brow.

“It's almost as if he... wants to reveal himself now.”

 _They want us to know_ , Magnus thought, _they want us to see._

How much pain had “Louise” been carrying in secret? For how long? Passed as simply a “girlfriend”, if he did not want to? Passed as something else than who they were? Passing as a man, perhaps, trapped in a body that was not hers? Anyway Magnus looked at it, he could feel the pain, the anger, the hate. Never accepted. Never wanted. The dirty secret of a man who was hopelessly in love with someone else.

No. No! He did not want to feel any sympathy for “Louise”. Not after those kids, not after Isa, not after the couple and the photographer.

Not. After. Kalle. Svedberg.

“But he needs to choose how and when...” Kurt finished, and Magnus felt a chill down his spine.

Something told him that however this would go down, it would be a move against Kurt.

“And who,” Lisa added, confirming Magnus was not alone in his suspicions.

“There's still one question, isn't there,” Nyberg said, perking up, “why didn't he kill you?”

Magnus answered silently for himself: because he wanted Kurt to suffer. Kurt was at the centre of it all. Had always been.

They separated after that, each going back to their desk. They had spent another sleepless night. Kurt made his way to the exit, probably to get some fresh air, while Magnus looked at the picture of “Louise”. He wanted their face seared into his mind so he would recognise them anywhere, under any disguise.

Suddenly, Kurt burst back in, dishevelled, but with a new determination in his face. He looked straight at Magnus in a way the younger man knew only too well. He was going to get assigned something either asinine or very unpleasant. Again. What had he done, this time?

“Get down to the photographer's studio, I want the wedding couple's letter and I want the envelope it came in! Anne-Britt!”

That was the last straw. So he took Anne-Britt again, while Magnus was supposed to...

“How am I supposed to get...” he started, only to have a full on Wallander wrath turned on him. “I don't care if you have to stick your nose in every sticking bin in Scania to get it!”

What the Hell? Magnus let go of his pen, too stunned to react. What was Kurt's problem this time? Why was he... why the hot and cold... why the bullying again?

He sighed, stayed put for another few minutes, before getting up and walking to his car to obey his supervisor' orders, no matter how unpleasant they happened to be.

 

* * *

 

He swore, swore and swore again. At least his clothes were not new when he began, because now, they were definitely ruined. Fucking Wallander and his fucking need to use Magnus as a punching bag and how come Magnus did not just hate the guy because...

He parked his car and got out, waltzing into the Station, furious and dirty.

Then he saw Linda, sitting on one of the visitors benches. He recognised her wavy light brown hair and slender form immediately. She looked weary and worried. She was beautiful, Magnus thought idly, she even had her father's gentle eyes. He smiled at her and she smiled back. He did not dare come closer, considering how bad he must be smelling, but he waved.

She was the one stopping him, catching up to him on the stairs.

“Detective Martinsson,” she had hesitated on his name and he did not blame her. They only had met a handful of times and always in crowed places.

He stopped on his tracks and nodded. “Miss Wallander. You can call me Magnus,” he offered and she smiled again, tired but friendly.

“Then call me Linda. You wouldn't happen to know where my father is?”

He shook his head. He really wished he did, but hey, what was the office-boy to know?

“I'm sure he'll be back soon,” he said instead, because he knew that was what she wanted to hear.

To be fair, that was what he wanted to hear too.

She nodded and let him go. He wanted to quickly shower and change, before Kurt came back.

Under the shower, he thought of her smile and tried to imagine what could have pushed her to try to kill herself. Such a bright young light could have gone extinct. Like Kristoffer…

He shook his head.

He remembered, being a teenager, falling in lust with his first guy, confused, scared of his parents, of himself, then kissing a girl, having sex with her, liking it, thinking he might be “normal” after all, but then another guy, and...

What people could hide, under the veneer of happiness, what scares did they bear, how deep did those go…?

There was no answer to those questions.

At least Linda Wallander was still there and made the World a little brighter for it.

 

* * *

 

Sadly, he had nothing to change into, so he had to put on his dirty clothes before going back up. At least Kurt and Anne-Britt were there, thank the Lord. He sighed inwardly but decided to play it rough. It was not hard, he really felt rough.

“God, I have waded through some shit for this envelope,” he declared and was stunned when Kurt's reply was to silence him with a finger. What the Hell? Again?

Kurt took a drink while Magnus passed his anger on his chair, throwing the evidence on the table. His phone started ringing, and it was like a bad comedy all over again. Nobody moved to answer it. Of all the crappy passive-aggressive shit...! He snatched it and grunted a “yeah” into the receptor. Someone asked to talk to Detective Wallander and he passed the phone to Kurt with a pointed look.

“Not now,” Kurt rasped, and the way his voice sounded partially calmed Magnus' anger. He sounded like he was too tired to stand up, like he had cried himself to a state of undead walking.

“I'm afraid he can't come to the phone right now,” he said more politely to the agitated man at the other end.

The answer he got did not make any sort of sense to him, so he turned towards Kurt questioningly. “He... He said it's quite important? It's someone from the post office?”

The change was immediate and quite violent. Wallander stormed to his desk and grabbed the phone from his limp hand.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly and listened intently to what was being said. When he hung up, he looked alive again.

“It's him,” he said simply, and while Magnus had no idea what had happened, he knew without a doubt that they had finally caught up with “Louise”.

 

* * *

 

They got the address and the whole team plus a dozen uniforms drove in record time to the unassuming neighbourhood where Ake Larstam, aka “Louise”, lived.

While the uniforms were establishing a safety perimeter, Magnus forced the door, mindless of the alarm that started ringing as soon as the wood gave way. He immediately got his gun out, as did Anne-Britt, but he noticed with a grimace that Kurt, of course, did not do the same.

The place was made of small corridors, which gave away a claustrophobic feeling, but it was white and clean. Normal. Another secret.

After making sure it was empty, they found Kurt in the secret inside the secret. He noticed the door should have been locked, a keypad protected it. But “Louise” obviously wanted them to see it. It had not been locked.

It was a room, dimply lit by a small window.

A room filled with clothes, female, male, coloured and bright, kept clean, protected in plastic. There were wigs of all sizes and colours. Everything was kept pristine and cool, a fan working slowly around.

And open post, copies of cards, of letters...

Everywhere. Sorted but invasive. “Louise” had been obsessed with other people lives.

Magnus noticed a picture of Svedberg, from the Ystad community newspaper announcing his murder. A letter was opened next to it. Not a copy this time. A hand written letter, addressed to “Louise”. Signed by Svedberg. He read only a few sentences. It was a love letter. It was beautiful.

He tore his eyes away. “He must have been collecting this stuff for years,” he said, “other people's lives...”

“Other people’s secrets,” Kurt finished in a murmur.

There was a copy of a picture of Kurt with Kalle, at the café next to their office. He handed it over to his supervisor. Damn it.

Then, as he ruffled through countless letter, his eyes fell on something that made his heart stop. A postcard. Not a copy, this time. “Kurt,” he called, horrified. It could not be. But the signature, the name on the address and even the content...

The man was not listening, so he tried again.

“There's a postcard to you, here,” he said and, finally, Wallander looked up at him. “It's from Linda.”

He handed it over to Kurt and saw realisation dawn on his supervisor' face.

“My shirt,” he said, as if in a trance.

Magnus blinked, confused.

“She's getting my shirt!”

And he was gone, running, desperate. Magnus knew exactly how he felt, because, after taking a look at the address, he was right behind him.

He jumped into his car, not waiting for Anne-Britt or anyone else. His blood was pounding in his ears, he could only think of one thing: this was the moment “Louise” had been looking for, this was the vengeance they wanted, this was everything they could ask for. Kurt's daughter or Kurt's life, either way, the man Magnus loved – madly, desperately, despite every humiliation, every fight, everything and everyone – would be utterly destroyed.

The man Kalle had loved.

The man who would not kill, against a killer who wanted to crush everything he was. Even if Kurt was the one to pull the trigger, he would never be the same again.

Magnus could not allow any of those things to happen.

He missed one turn and cursed under his breath, trying to get a grip on himself enough to get to his destination in time.

He stopped his car and got out, walking slowly towards the open door, terrified and yet, at the same time, oddly calm. His hands did not shake. He breathed slowly in and out, entering silently. Now he could hear them. Them. “Louise”. Finally.

“Kalle… loved you. And you didn’t even see him… I was nothing… He hid me away like something dirty and diseased,” the voice was desperate, dead, but so very angry.

Love turned to hate so easily, Magnus thought, even through his terror. If the monster was still talking and no screams were happening, then they were alive. They had to be. He slipped inside, measuring each step carefully. He knew what he had to do.

“But then I made him see me.”

Muffled female cries. Linda was alive.

"And now... you're gonna see me, Wallander.”

_Don't shoot, please God, don't let any of them shoot!_

“You're going to see me... for the rest of you life!”

He saw Kurt shoot, but nothing happened. Empty magazine. He reacted instinctively, screaming for Kurt to get down, pushing him away and then he shot. Twice.

He saw the young man stand for a while, barely conscious of Wallander sliding to his daughter and taking her in his arms. “Louise”'s eyes were on him, surprised, knowing and disappointed all at once. The moment seemed to last forever. And then he, she, they fell.

Magnus let out the breath he had not realised he was holding. It pushed past his throat. It was over. It was finally over.

But...

He lowered his gun, slowly, eyes locked on the Wallanders. Alive. Blessedly alive. He could hear their cries and sobs, see their embrace, but behind them was darkness. A darkness he did not want to face.

Wallander turned to look at him, haggard, his eyes felt like an accusation in Magnus' suddenly feverish mind and the young man lost it.

He stumbled backward, until he reached the doorway.

As soon as he was outside the bile came out and he found himself vomiting on the pavement, falling down on his knees.

He had killed someone. He had looked into someone's eyes and killed them.

The stress of it all, the horror, the fear, everything caught up with him and he scrambled backward until his back met a wall. He huddled there, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering. Only the sound of sirens coming woke him up from his catatonic state and he raised his eyes, realising he still held his gun in his hand.

Anne-Britt was running towards him, asking if he was all right, talking too fast, too loud, and he nodded numbly, just to make her stop. He forced himself up as she passed him by to get into the house. The uniforms looked at him curiously but he ignored them and walked, well, stumbled really, to his car.

He sat on the conductor seat, legs dangling outside, looking straight ahead, unable to process what had just happened. He kept seeing “Louise”… Ake… their eyes.

 _I wanted to kill “Louise”, and I did,_ he thought. _That's what happened. Kurt is alive, Linda is alive, and Kurt won't have to live with... with_ _killing them_ _. Everything played out as it should._

But the thought was empty, meaningless. All he could see was “Louise” 's eyes, and Kalle's, oddly enough. Kalle and his gory hole. Those eyes had been the last thing Kalle had seen before he died.

 … _I made him see me... and now you’re gonna see me… for the rest of your life..._

 “Magnus!”

He jerked aware, suddenly, to Lisa leaning over to him. He blinked up at her. She was extending a hand.

“Magnus, I need your gun. You have to let it go. It was a clean shot, but there's still going to be an investigation.”

He looked down at his hand. He was gripping his gun tightly, as an anchor. It took him another thirty seconds and another “Magnus” from Lisa, more gentle this one, for him to relinquish it into her care.

She put the gun away in a bag and knelt before him, putting a hand on his knee. He hated to touch, but did not say anything.

“Are you okay,” she asked, in a tone that suggested she knew he was absolutely not okay at all.

He nodded, numbly.

“They're dead,” he said, sounding stupid to his own ears.

She frowned. “No,” she protested warmly, “no, they're okay! Kurt and Linda are okay. You saved them!”

“No, not them,” he replied, annoyed, “”Louise”. They're dead. I killed them.”

Lisa looked confused for a minute and he added, because it seemed suddenly important.

“We don't know how they identified themselves. So “they”. Not him. Or her. And they're dead.”

Lisa looked even more worried.

“I'll have someone taking you home,” she decided. “We'll just take a quick statement and then you're off. Do you have someone who can stay with you tonight? You shouldn't be alone.”

“I don't need anyone,” he replied, finally finding his voice again, steady, but hollow. “I'll be fine on my own. Don't worry.”

Lisa was not convinced. In her place, he probably would not have been either. In her place. In her place he would not have shot twice into someone who was sick and hurt and needed help... He chuckled and she frowned. “You're in shock,” she said, shaking her head, “I'll...”

He shook his head. He did not need her. He did not need her pity, her compassion, the psych-eval she was probably going to have him go through.

He just needed… rest. Maybe.

_Oh God, their eyes!_

“He is coming with us.”

That was Kurt's voice. It felt like a beacon in the dark. Magnus raised his eyes to look beyond Lisa and saw him, standing a few feet away, holding tight on his daughter who had her head buried in his neck. His face was a wreck of tears and exhaustion, but his eyes were lucid.

Lisa cleared her throat. “Kurt I don't think... Maybe Anne-Britt could...”

“We'll have to check into a hotel anyway,” Kurt stopped her, “I'll take Magnus with me.”

“You should concentrate on Linda, Kurt,” Lisa retorted, not unreasonably, Magnus reflected distantly. “Maybe take her to a hospital or...”

But Linda looked up, at Lisa first, then at Magnus. “I can manage,” she said, sniffling.

 _We're all going to have nightmares anyway,_ Magnus thought numbly.

“He’s coming with me,” Kurt said and that voice broke no argument.

“There's going to be an investigation, Kurt, you're not supposed to...”

“Then take our statements now and be done with it.”

Lisa sighed, but Magnus knew she was beaten. There was nothing as stubborn as a determined Kurt Wallander.

“I'm not sure Magnus is in any state to...”

“I'll do it,” he cut, because he wanted to stay with Kurt, very much so.

 _I’ll take Magnus with me._ Just that sentence, just a few little words, and he already felt better. More focused.

Lisa frowned deeply, but eventually nodded. She gestured to Anne-Britt, who was standing a bit behind the Wallanders and she turned back to Magnus again. “Come on. We’re going to the Station.”

She gave a few orders and he got a glimpse of Nyberg entering the house with his technician. Then she had him sit in the passenger seat of his car and drove him back to their office.

He drunk the coffee she gave him, told her what happened in as clearly and precisely a manner as he could, but through all of it, he felt remote, as if he was telling someone else’s story. In a middle of a storm.

“You didn’t have a choice, Magnus,” Lisa said gently, when he told her about firing. “You’re the reason Linda and Kurt are still alive. You were amazing.”

“I shouldn’t have…” but he trailed off. He still had enough of his wits about him to recognize that it was not a good thing to say he should not have killed a perp when he was under investigation for doing just that.

Lisa shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Magnus, and...”

“Are you done,” again, Kurt’s voice cut deep through the storm. Lisa looked up behind Magnus and he did not need to turn around to know his supervisor was standing there, imperious.

She sighed.

“Yes. The rest can wait. We will have to plan how to announce it and...”

“Later.”

Magnus felt a hand on his back and looked up at Wallander. The man’s face was gaunt, eyes still red and puffy, but he did not shake any more.

“Come on,” the deep, soft voice he so loved encouraged him. He got up and followed Wallander outside. He took his coat at his desk like like an automaton and they descended to the entrance. Linda was waiting for them, arms wrapped around herself, still bearing the heavy traces of her tears, but now looking far more composed.

“Let’s go,” Kurt said.

Once they were all in Kurt’s car, Magnus felt stupid. He had a perfectly good place to stay in, even if the thought of being alone in his flat was slightly terrifying. He needed to… he was not sure what, but...

“It’s okay Kurt, just drop me off at my apartment and...”

Wallander threw him a look and he trailed off.

“Or you could just come stay with me,” he added finally.

This time, Kurt looked at him for a moment longer. He looked drained.

“I’ve got a spare room. And a couch.”

It was weird to think of Kurt in his space, but also strangely comforting. Linda leaned in, looking at her father. Magnus noted her hands were still shaking a little. They would look after her. Nothing would happen to her. They would be safe.

“You sure you don’t mind,” Kurt asked finally and Magnus shook his head in response. In fact, he wanted it. Wanted to have them both there, in a place he felt safe in. But he could hardly say that to the older man.

Eventually, Kurt nodded and it was settled. Magnus gave him the address and he parked in front of the blond’s building. It was a nice area, the houses around coloured and warm. Magnus lived on the third floor and he could see the sea from most of his windows.

Kurt got out of the car and took a few steps towards the building, as if taking in his environment, while Linda opened the trunk and took out a small suitcase which Magnus in turn took from her. He led them up the stairs and to his door, opening it with one hand. For a moment, as he was shifting the keys to find the right one, his eyes stopped on his hand. He remembered how the gun had felt in them as he fired, the rush of adrenaline, the...

Shaking his head, he finally opened the door and put the keys in the bowl on the coffee table right in the hallway.

He was surprised by how normal his flat felt. It was clean and welcoming, smelled faintly of lavender, as it always did – thanks to the dry flowers he had in every room. He loved the smell.

He guided them to the main room, both sitting room and dinning area. He noted he had left the windows open and the sea air was getting in. He put the suitcase near the couch and Kurt declared he was going to sleep there.

“No, dad, I am,” Linda replied firmly. “You are in far worse shape than I and that couch is a bit too small for you.”

Magnus noted that Wallander was about to protest but stopped himself. He probably had an argument up his sleeve he did not feel comfortable using in front of Magnus. Linda had no such qualm.

“I know you usually sleep in your armchair, but that’s no way to live. You need a proper bed. Oh, and a shower.”

She made a shooing gesture at her father, who frowned, but Magnus did not leave him enough time to argue.

“The bathroom is the third door on the right.”

He shrugged slightly at Kurt’s glance.

“You do smell.”

Wallander seemed to give up after that and went to retrieve the suitcase, taking it to Magnus’ small spare room. The young detective did not say it, but it had not seen a visitor since a few years prior, when Angie and Lukas made a brief stop on their way to Lukas’ family home. They had been the only ones to ever use it. His own family never visited, and the few people he had had over over the years had been staying with him in his bed. He watched Wallander opening the suitcase. It had been packed in haste, he noted, but made no comment. Kurt glanced up at him.

“Magnus... Linda, she...”

Magnus shook his head.

“I’m going to make her some tea. Don’t worry.”

Kurt looked at him, sharper than before. His dark eyes were piercing and Magnus turned his head away to escape their searching gaze.

“I’m okay, Kurt,” _No, I’m not,_ “It’s over.” _Is it really?_ _How is it supposed to be_ _ever over_ _?_

But...

 _I’_ _m just glad you’re safe._

He fled the scene with a vague “go take a shower.”

 

* * *

 

Linda’s slender hands closed around the mug of tea with gratitude. She had taken the time to wash her face a little, but she still looked haunted.

At first she said nothing, sitting on the couch, elbows on her knees, eyes lost on the coffee table with its soft mahogany designs. Magnus sat opposite her in his armchair, legs spread, cup held between them by tired hands.

“He kept me for almost two hours,” she said suddenly, and Magnus’ head snapped up. “He just rang and when I opened the door, he pushed a gun under my nose and forced me inside. He told me to sit down and wait, that he’d kill me if I made any sound. It felt like it’d never end… I can still feel the barrel on my head.”

She sighed and took a sip of tea. She was shivering. He leaned towards her, hesitating to get up and embrace her. Would she welcome it? They barely knew each other.

“I’m sorry, Linda,” he said softly. Sorry she had to live through that. Sorry that she had been caught in the middle of this case just because she happened to be Kurt’s daughter, who cared enough about her dad to send him a post-card.

“You saved us,” she looked up, straight into his eyes. Hers were as perceptive as her father’s. “If dad had shot… He would never have forgiven himself.”

“I know.” And Magnus did know. That had been one of his biggest fears during the whole case.

Ironic, that Kurt was spared the horror because he had forgotten to reload his weapon. Terrible, if Magnus had not been there. It was like Kurt was always tempting fate. Magnus did not understand that, not with a child like Linda, no matter how strained their relationship. But then again, maybe he was not meant to understand.

“You know him well.”

He snorted and got up, idly going to his bookcases, just so he would have something to do.

He did not know Kurt, did he?

Not like he should, not like he wanted.

Or did he?

He frowned at a copy of Neil Gaiman’s _Neverwhere_. It was true he knew a lot of things about Kurt, from factual data to instinctual knowledge of who the man was deep down, and how he would react in a given situation.

He knew enough to love him.

Was it love? He had been so sure when rushing after him, wanting to save him from death or inflicting death. When one has never been in love, how does one know?

But it felt like it. Because he still wanted Wallander around, with him, bad habits, insufferable personality and all. He still wanted to protect him from any and all harm.

He would pull the trigger again for him.

He winced, closing his eyes. Behind his eyelids, both Svedberg and “Louise” were watching. He felt a hand on his back and jumped a bit. Linda was looking up at him. Without her heels, she was a fair bit shorter than he was. Nevertheless, her face was too wise to arouse the need to engulf her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine. After all, he was barely a few years older than she was.

“Are you okay,” she asked but immediately corrected, “I mean, I know you are not okay, but… Are you going to be?”

Magnus honestly did not know. Before all this, he would have been sure killing a known perp, while doing one’s duty, could not be that bad. He had carried a gun with complete certitude in his ability to use it to kill if need be.

Now…

Maybe “Louise” was a special case. Because he could identify with them. Because of Svedberg and everything. Because “Louise” was suffering from a mental illness, independently of their identity, not like that bastard Sandin.

But “Louise” also killed eight people, seven of them completely innocent in all this, for no other reason than “Louise”’s hate for Kalle and Kurt, and by extension any form of secret, especially if they brought happiness to their keepers.

And so he now knew that snuffing out a life, no matter the circumstances, was not what he thought it would be. It was not heroic or glorious or even a satisfaction of duty. It was brutal. It was cruel. Sickening.

He made a beeline to the toilet just in time. He could see “Louise” killing Svedberg in his mind, and then their eyes as he himself had shot. Their mouth as it opened slowly in shock. That infinity between the deafening sounds and the fall of their body. It all twirled in his head as he dry heaved over the toilet bowl. He had nothing left in his stomach but bile.

When he came back to himself, it was to the sound of his name called by Kurt’s voice and two firm hands holding his shoulder. He shivered and turned his gaze to Kurt’s face.

It was wet. But not from tears, he noted. From the water dripping from his grey hair. Kurt was… almost naked. He only had a towel wrapped precariously around his waist. Magnus blinked slowly. It looked like Kurt had come straight out from his shower. It was the first time Magnus had seen him in a state of undress. They had never crossed paths in the showers or changing rooms at the Station, and the man almost never left his shirt and vest ensemble.

He looked… soft. A bit of fat everywhere, a bit of a tummy, and dark hair on his chest and arms. He was far from the most fetching specimen of male beauty that Magnus had ever seen, but at the same time, his heart started beating a little faster. He realised he wanted to kiss those lips, wanted those soft but strong arms around him, wanted to lose himself in those dark eyes…

“...okay?”

He blinked again, suddenly realising that Kurt was talking to him.

“Magnus. Are you okay?” He repeated, a hand coming to push blond curls away from a sweaty brow.

Magnus, surprised, swallowed and grimaced at the taste of acid and bile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine… I just need...” He got up – Wallander following the motion with less dexterity – and went to the small toilet sink to pour some water over his face. When he opened his eyes again, Linda was there too, at the door, offering him a glass of water. He took it gratefully and took a long sip.

“I’m gonna go… I’m gonna go take a shower too,” Linda finally said. The toilet room felt overcrowd with the two men pressed inside even after she left.

“I’ll go get dressed,” Wallander mumbled a few moments later, as if making sure Magnus could be left on his own. The younger man nodded. It was so strange to see Kurt acting so caring. Did he feel guilty, because Magnus had to be the one to…? Was it the reason he was so attentive, all of the sudden?

Magnus shook his head, washed his mouth again and went to the kitchen wanting to pour Kurt a glass of wine. He was about to do as much when he remembered the hospital. The diabetes. He put away the wine and served them both sparkling water instead. It would not do if he drank and Kurt could not, no matter how much he felt like a drink at this moment.

He could hear the shower and felt oddly comforted that Linda was in there, safe. Was it like that, being a parent, he wondered. Never feeling totally at ease unless you could hear a sound telling you where they were, or see their faces…?

How should he know? With parents like his, it was not like he had any real reference. And Linda was far too old to be his daughter.

He heard Wallander’s steps and turned to offer him the glass. Kurt took it with a smile. He had not shaved but, smelling fresh from the shower and dressed in clean clothes, he did look better. They drank silently for a minute, Magnus leaning against the counter and Kurt looking through the window.

“It’s a nice flat,” he said finally, and it was so incongruous to Magnus’ ears that he could not stop a little laugh from escaping. Kurt looked at him with a crooked smile. “Well, it is. Interesting décor.”

Magnus stopped laughing and blushed. Honest to God, blushed. He had completely forgotten the paintings. Magnus loved art, and especially nudes, both male and female. The Human body held a great fascination to him. Some were reproduction from famous pieces, others were his sister Ester’s, sent from the United States, some were by local artists. Some were even his, when he was younger and had dabbled in art. Those he did not usually hang around, but they probably were amongst the art books on his shelves.

“Yeah, well… It’s...”

Kurt interrupted him.

“Every young man his secrets.”

It had been said jovially but the word “secrets” brought them back to Kalle, and the case, and a heavy cloud fell on them both. Magnus thought about his biggest secret, and what would happen if Kurt discovered it. At least, there was nothing in his apartment that could give him a clue. Magnus had a few pictures of the squad, but they were of all of them, none of Kurt alone, or alone with Magnus.

He remembered one especially funny where Svedberg… The thought was interrupted by his own dry sob. He put a hand on his mouth, hoping Kurt had not heard it. Even after solving the case… Well, it did not bring Kalle back, did it?

As long as they were on the killer’s tracks, it had felt as if the man had not really left, somehow. Like he still was there, with them. But now…

He realised that he did not need to say anything. Kurt looked like his train of thoughts had followed Magnus’ and he finished his drink in one go.

“I’ll make us some dinner,” Magnus announced. He badly wanted a shower, but he needed to do something right now, and Linda was still in the bathroom.

“We could order in,” Kurt offered, but Magnus sent him a pointed look. The man smiled. “You’re acting like my daughter again.”

“Perhaps,” the younger man replied with a light smile of his own, “but getting to know her makes me think it’s not a bad thing at all.”

He went to his fridge and started selecting vegetable and some fish. He could steam the lot. It might smell a little, but if he closed the door, it should be okay.

“Don’t tell her. She doesn’t know yet… about the… you know, the diabetes.”

Magnus stopped his sorting and looked at him. “I won’t,” he promised, “but you should.”

“She’d only worry more,” Kurt shrugged and put down his now empty glass. “If you need any help...”

Magnus shook his head, not wanting to try and see what kind of disaster Kurt could unleash on his pristine kitchen, and gently indicated that the man should leave him to cook in peace. A minute later, he heard the TV’s drowsing sound. He shut the door, as much for the smell as for the fact that he did not want to hear anything related to the day’s event.

Magnus was as used to crap food as any overworked cop was. He rarely got to actually cook, but he enjoyed it. It relaxed him. Allowed him to stop thinking.

And right now, he really, really needed to stop thinking.

 

* * *

 

The dinner was great, to Magnus’ surprise. Not that he had expected it to be awful, but he had thought it would be gloomy after what they had been through, just a few hours prior for Linda, for the last few days for Kurt and Magnus. But it seemed they had managed between the three of them to create a small bubble of comfort and warmth. Linda talked about her job and her studies, about her plans to go on holidays with her friends to Island. She asked about Magnus’ paintings, to the embarrassment of both men, and he explained his love for anatomy and the human form. She told him about her grand father, Kurt’s father, and the way he painted the same landscape over and over again. Seeing Kurt’s face darken, Magnus surmised that his father was a sore spot.

But they immediately changed subject when Linda asked him about his CD collection of local bands and he told her about the Vegetarian Bar. She laughed when her father added he had been there with Magnus. Kurt did not talk much at all, but he seemed more relaxed than Magnus had ever seen him. The circles around his eyes did not look so big when he was smiling.

It took him a while to notice that the man was looking at him. A lot. Was he worried?

After dessert (plain yoghurt with some apples) they settled in the sitting room, the telly on. Linda was leaning on her father’s shoulder on the couch and Magnus in his armchair. He did not really know what they were watching and he had the feeling the same went for the Wallanders.

None of them wanted to go to bed and face the night on their own.

But they had to. At least Linda and Magnus knew as much. The blond had a feeling that, left to his own device, Wallander fell asleep in front of the screen more often than not. Hence the armchair story, he supposed.

Linda chased them from her temporary room with efficiency however and soon, Magnus was in his bed. He had yet to turn off his bedside lamp though. A book on new technologies applied to law enforcement sat next to it, forgotten for months. He had been too exhausted at night to read such heavy material.

He turned under his blanket. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. A detective.

He needed to get past this.

He turned off the light and settled on his pillows, trying to think about anything but the last few weeks.

 

* * *

 

He woke up with a start, arms struggling against someone’s hold, sweat running down his face. He was shivering so hard he felt like he was going to break bones.

“Magnus! Magnus! Calm down!”

The voice was familiar, soothing. It was not Kalle’s or “Louise”’s. He tried to take a breath, feeling like he was asphyxiating, but his arms fell down on either side of his head. He finally managed to open his eyes long enough to make out the face above his.

Kurt.

The weight partially on his chest was Kurt’s body. He was holding Magnus’ wrists loosely, to stop him from struggling too much.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe...”

He relaxed slowly.

“That’s it. Deep breaths.”

He did as he was asked, swallowing with difficulty, licking lips that felt like sandpaper. There was no light in his room, safe for the street lights from the window. Kurt was a shadow in a tee-shirt and shorts. His eyes, though, Magnus could see clearly, naked and full of emotions as always, showing how worried he was.

“Okay,” he asked softly and Magnus nodded as best he could.

Kurt let go of his wrist and sat back up. Magnus followed suit, finding he was sweating all over. He looked at the door, worried he might have woken Linda, but Kurt shook his head.

“She takes sleeping pills.”

Still? Even after…

But he did not dare ask anything. It was not his business. He passed a hand through his hair, finding them clammy and wet.

“You were struggling badly and groaning. You… you called my name a few times.”

Magnus looked up at the older man. In the low light, on this bed… Intimate in a way he did not know what to do with. Any moment Kurt was going to get up and retreat to his room. That was the only alternative, right?

“I don’t… I don’t really remember...”

It was true. The nightmare had been foggy, a miasma of people, places, situations he could not solve, of shot fired and missed, of voices, screams, cries, of dead bodies, of eyes, “Louise”’s, Kalle’s, Kurt’s even, opened and empty in death. Above all, he had felt powerless, then incredibly powerful, sickeningly so. As if he had enjoyed the kill. And Kurt had looked at him with sad, disappointed eyes before turning away...

He shuddered and was surprised when he felt a blanket around his shoulder. He realised it was his and Kurt had retrieved it from the floor where his thrashings must have sent it earlier.

“I still have nightmares,” Kurt said softly, “Of Dolorès. Of Ella. Now of Kalle and Louise and Isa. All of them.”

Magnus wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, listening silently. Kurt never talked to him about these things. He was not sure he even told Anne-Britt.

“I never wanted that for you.” Kurt’s voice was forlorn.

The younger man lifted a hand to press on his supervisor’ shoulder. Perhaps he had been a bit fast in his assessment of Kurt’s actions all those years. Though if he thought Magnus did not have nightmares before, he was sadly mistaken. Dolorès was still with him, and the haunted look on Louise Friedman’s face. Many others. Too many.

But never before had he been the killer.

“It’s… it’s the job, Kurt, you can’t protect us from it. You shouldn’t.” He said eventually.

“I don’t mean... I meant, you… Magnus… I…” Then he stopped, just as Magnus’ heart seemed to stop. But Kurt went on rapidly. “It shouldn’t be part of the job! I don’t know what is going on with this country these days! It’s not supposed to be like this and...”

“Kurt,” Magnus cut him off, because in this strange twilight, it felt like he could ask, “what do you mean, “me”?”

Kurt looked at him then, vulnerable, like a child, eyes damp. He seemed to hesitate.

“I… I shouldn’t,” he muttered, so low that Magnus was not even sure he had heard him right. “You shouldn’t… what?”

But Kurt was already shirking away. “You should try to get some sleep. A shower might help? Anyway, I wanted to thank you… for what you did today.”

Wow, if Kurt used something that was incredibly hard for him to say normally – a thoughtful thank you to a colleague – as a shield to not talk about that other thing…

 _My, it must be big_ , Magnus thought.

The man was getting up, but the blond grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“You don’t need to thank me, Kurt,” he said, frank and kind. _You’re alive, you and Linda, that’s all that matters._ “I’d do it again.” _Although_ _for the life of me, I hope I’ll never have to._ “Thought I’d rather you had some bullets in your gun,” _Even if I’m glad you didn’t._ _This time._ “Because you scared me half to death. You could have died, and that happens far too often.” _Do you realise it would break my heart? Of course you don’t._

“Yes, yes, you’re right. It won’t happen again. But now I should...” He tried to get up again, and Magnus stopped him, again. He did not know exactly what it was that scared Kurt into fleeing the scene – even if he knew what he hoped it would turn out to be – but one thing he was sure of: this opportunity would not present itself again anytime soon. Here they were, alone, emotions running high, in as intimate a setting as ever could happen between them.

He was not going to let Kurt escape.

“Please. Kurt.”

The man seemed utterly disarmed by the simple honesty of his plea and sat back down, eyes finally meeting his. Magnus read a lot of affection, mixed with fear, in his gaze,. He wondered why he had never noticed it before.

“Magnus, you’re not…” Kurt swallowed hard, looking upwards for a moment, then back down. “It’s not… I don’t know if...”

He trailed off, obviously unable to say out loud what he was thinking. Magnus was not scared of that. He had met plenty of men who were unable to voice their feelings, though he never thought he would one day count Kurt Wallander among them. But he did not dare presume, did not dare hope… Maybe his own feelings led him to read the situation wrong.

There was only one way to know, but if he was wrong it was going to make his position at work absolutely unsustainable.

However, after what had transpired that day, he felt comfortable taking that risk. Too much had already happened, and too much could still happen. Any day. If it meant getting his heart broken and having to leave Ystad, so be it.

 _You should take life as it comes,_ Ester had said right before leaving the family house at sixteen. _You never know if you’re gonna be alive tomorrow. So I’ll say it once: you’re my favourite brother Mag_ _ni_ _._

“Kurt,” he started. The man looked lost, almost panicked, but also curious. “I know I annoy you a lot, and fair is fair, you do to. A lot. But… but I also like you. A lot.”

Gosh, he sounded like a teenager. Was he about to add “yes like like” at the end? He shook his head, to clear it, and forced himself to face Kurt again.

“I mean, I am attracted to you. Sexually. Romantically.”

He could not look at Kurt any more. He bit his lips and his eyes fell on the forms the street’s lights created on his wall.

“I know.”

Magnus blinked, astonished, and looked back at his supervisor. That was about the farthest thing he expected Kurt to say. He… knew…?

What?

What?!

“You know,” he repeated, unsure what he was feeling: disbelief, anger, elation, mortification, agitation… hope?

Kurt chuckled humourlessly.

“I may be oblivious to a lot of things, Magnus, but you were hardly discreet these past few weeks. And… I didn’t think I was, either.”

“You… rather were, actually?”

Well, Kurt had been quite tactile a few times, true, but hardly something Magnus would call “obvious”. He could lament about being a bad detective later, though.

“But… You didn’t know… for Kalle… why...”

Why did he have to open his big mouth again? Why bring Kalle, here, now, in this small space of theirs? Of course, Kurt’s face darkened, and Magnus could have hit himself.

“Yeah, I… I’ll never forgive myself for that… But the truth is, I don’t think I looked at Svedberg half as much as I paid attention to you.”

“To me?” Magnus repeated, dumbly. “As an office boy, you mean? Your janitor and computer slave or something?”

That was hardly romantic, or appropriate, but Magnus could not help himself. That anger never completely faded. But Kurt only smiled, as if he had expected no less from the blond.

“I don’t think you quite realise how hard you are sometimes to deal with, Magnus,” he said and the younger man huffed in indignation. Before he could vocalise exactly who, in his mind, was the real pain in the arse, however, Kurt continued in a far more subdued tone:

“I’m too old for you. I’m your supervisor. You’re… young, and handsome, and clever. You’ve got ambitions and the means to reach them. You deserve more than a depressed old fool like me.”

Kurt thought Magnus – Magnus! – was too good for him?

“Don’t you think I should be the one to decide that,” the blond asked, this time in a sure tone. This, he could deal with. After all, he had asked himself the same questions: if it was worth it, if Kurt was really able to make such a commitment after his wife and Ella, if Magnus himself was, if he was ready to take on the man and all the trauma, mental imbalance and the emotional baggages that came with him?

Today he had decided that he was. Absolutely.

That was, if…

“I didn’t know you liked guys too.”

Kurt looked at him, disbelieving.

“Magnus, I know you read the profile Linda made for me on that damn website.”

… True. But there was a World between theorising something and having it confirmed, especially in a case such as this. And so Linda had been the one… That explained a lot about the poetics of said profile.

But he had never imagined, well not in a concrete, realistic way, that Kurt could be… interested in him. Had a been with men before?

Wait, that could wait. They were still in uncertain waters.

“Kurt, I...” He stopped, trying to collect his thoughts so he would stop babbling like an awkward adolescent.

For once Wallander let him and stayed blessedly silent in the meantime.

How should he get on with this? “I love you” seemed awkward at best. Traumatic as the day had been, this might not be the best moment to make life changing declarations that he had no way to be certain would be returned. At the same time, he felt sure of what he wanted: a relationship with Kurt. So, first thing first:

“Kurt, I really like you, all of you. I know you. I know how you are, and I know how crazy you can make me. I don’t think you’re old. Older than me, sure, but not “old”. You’ve got baggage, yeah, sure, we all do. You’re not the most… well-adjusted person in the World but I don’t mind. I’m ready for what that means. I know I can be good for you, be there for you. I want to. I told you, if not me, I really think you’ve got a lot to offer and… Well, I didn’t say “if not me” at the time but I was thinking it. You were happy and I really wanted that for you and...”

 _Oh for the love of… Shut! Up!_ He clamped his lips tight to force himself to stop running at the mouth. This really was an annoying…

“That’s the first thing I remember liking about you,” Kurt said with a smile, interrupting Magnus’ self-berating. The blond looked up, frowning. “The fact that you seemed unable to stop talking, spilling out everything running through that convoluted head of yours. You always were so… genuine.”

Genuine. Nobody had ever said that about Magnus before, as far as he knew. He blinked. Sure, he was an honest guy. Mostly. But still… He hid a lot.

_We all have our secrets._

The oddest thing was, for the first time in his life, he really wanted to share his with someone. With that someone, who was staring at him with still skittish, but also very gentle eyes.

“Er… Thanks? I think. Well? What… do you think about it? What I said, I mean. I really want us to try, Kurt. I don’t know what it’ll mean, for the job, for the… But I want to. I can get a transfer, but I’m not… now that it’s all in the open, I just want… to try, I guess. With you.”

He really hoped Kurt was being sincere when he said he liked that aspect of him, because it seemed to become even worse whenever he was talking to the older man.

There was a pause. Kurt was looking at his knees and Magnus could almost see the thoughts twirling inside that head of his.

“Are you… sure,” Kurt asked at last, glancing briefly at him.

That was easy.

“Yes. I am.”

But because it was Magnus, it seemed that could not be enough.

“I mean, I can’t guarantee we’ll work, I mean, I don’t think anybody can. I never really had a proper relationship before, not like you did, I guess I’m just… I know I want one. I never did before.”

Now Kurt looked thoughtful again and Magnus wanted to punch himself. What had he said? Was the fact that he was a sort of relationship virgin as it were made him sound less serious? Would Kurt think he did not know what he was asking for? One did not have to have tried and failed at something to know about it, right? To know one wanted it? Not that Kurt’s marriage was a failure, even if it ended badly. There had to have been happiness too. Linda was there.

“Magnus, when a relationship ends… it can destroy you. Utterly. And...”

Magnus snapped his tongue with aggravation. He knew it was a painful subject for Kurt, but he would not start something only imagining what could happen if it ended.

“I’m not a child, Kurt. I don’t need a mentor or a father figure to teach me about life and love. I’ve dealt with my share of heartbreaks. I don’t intend this,” he pointed at both of them, “to be one of them.”

“One never does.”

“And one never gains anything by not trying. Look, I know what Ella… I know what happened was awful. But it’s me, not someone you barely know. You know me. What you have to ask yourself is: are you ready to trust me?”

 _And are you attracted enough, do you like me enough_ _to try_ _…_ But he refused to think like that. Kurt Wallander had many faults, but he did not think leading people on was one of them. This was hard enough on both of them, Kurt would not have started this if he was not… into Magnus, somehow.

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” _not yet anyway,_ “but… do you want to try this? Or should I start finding a way to forget it by morning. Which will not happen, by the way. So…” He scratched his hair, God, he really needed a shower. “… So, you know...”

Kurt looked at him for what felt like an eternity and Magnus felt the need to fidget under that gaze. His heart was in his throat in a way he did not remember ever feeling before.

“Yes,” the older man said eventually, and Magnus did not yet dare hope, until he added, “yes, I trust you, Magnus. And yes, I… want to try this with you.”

Magnus let out a sigh and shook his head, trying to relax the tension. Yes! That was it! Everything else, they could deal with on their own time. As long as they were both committed to try. Together.

A new silence invaded the darkened room. A “what’s next” hanging around them as they looked into each other’s eyes. Magnus licked his lips and saw Kurt’s eyes following the movement.

Finally, _finally_ , the older man leaned in and pressed his lips to Magnus’.

The kiss was soft, barely a press of skin, but the smell of Kurt, the fact that it was Kurt kissing him, it made Magnus’ stomach clenched and a strange, giddy feeling settling down in his throat.

When Kurt leaned back, he was crying. Magnus blinked, all his instincts wanting to comfort, but unable to understand why the man was dissolving into tears. He moved his arms from his knees and wrapped them hesitantly around Kurt’s shoulder. The man went into them willingly, suddenly pressing his face against Magnus’ chest, body shuddering with his sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Magnus murmured, hand coming to rest on the top of Kurt’s head, caressing his hair gently. He had very little experience with crying people outside of the job.

His mind flashed to the mother wailing and he closed his eyes tightly. After a few arrangements of limbs, he was leaning back against his pillows and the wall, Kurt pressed against his chest, crying like a fountain, hands gripping Magnus’ tee-shirt like a lifeline.

“Kurt...” he murmured when the crying seemed to have abated somewhat. He got no reply.

Wallander had fallen asleep, giving in to exhaustion.

“You idiot,” Magnus mumbled with a sigh, “like this is any way to sleep.”

The older man was half seated, half lying on Magnus, who, in turn, was not in the best position for his back, especially considering one of Kurt’s arm was wrapped tightly around his waist. Yet, he felt loathed to wake the man. Kurt never seemed to get enough sleep.

He stayed like that as long as he could, taking comfort in Kurt’s solid presence, his regular breathing and the fact that, unbelievably, Kurt was… well, his. For the moment at least.

But in the end, he felt tired and his muscles started protesting. Plus, he felt gross, cooling sweat all over him.

“Kurt,” he murmured, shaking the man gently. He only got a groan as an answer.

“Kurt, you need to wake up, just for a minute.”

He shook him a bit more firmly and the dark eyes blinked a few times.

“...nus?”

“Yeah. I need to take a shower, and you shouldn’t sleep like that or you’re going to feel it tomorrow.”

Kurt raised up a bit, and Magnus accommodated his moves until he was once again more or less seating.

“God, I’m sorry,” Wallander groaned, passing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what...”

“It’s okay,” Magnus stopped him gently.

Kurt wiped his eyes and looked at him. Magnus felt like kissing him again, so he did, no harder than the first time. This time, though, Kurt’s hand against his cheek stopped him from retreating and soon, almost without conscious thought on Magnus’ part, they were kissing deeply, lips pressing against each other, tongues meeting. Kurt’s hand grasped the back of Magnus’ head, getting lost in his blond curls as his tongue explored. He was surprisingly good at it, careful, gentle, but also firm, controlling, obviously used to leading the dance. It did not bother the blond, long hand coming up to hold Kurt’s cheek in turn, feeling the rasping of his never disappearing 5 o’clock against his palm.

“Do you ever shave?” He asked, out of the blue, between plays of tongues and lips.

Kurt gently brushed his nose against Magnus’ and chuckled.

“It’s been known to happen...”

They shared the air between them, breaths quicker than before. Kurt’s eyes looked… hungry. Magnus knew too well the curl of heat he felt down south and he wondered if Kurt was similarly excited. But he did not look. Eventually, Kurt got up, brushing his tee-shirt and Magnus saw, plain and right in front of him, the tending in his shorts.

He smiled to himself, probably far too smug.

“Go take your shower. I guess… I’ll see you in the morning?”

 _You can stay in my bed if you like_ , was on the tip of Magnus’ tongue, but he hesitated. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be careful, not to go too fast, not to lose what they were creating to quick moves or quick words. So he only smiled, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

They ended up sharing Magnus’ bed anyway. The young man had gone to take a shower, musing only for a moment before bringing himself quick relief under the spray to the thought of Kurt and the fresh memory of his hungry gaze, lips and tongue. Then he had been back in his bed, alone – presumably, Kurt had gone back to the guest room – and fallen asleep.

Only to wake again to the sound of his own cries and Kurt’s hands on his shoulders. Wallander did not ask, he simply got in bed next to the younger man and took him against his chest. This time it was his turn to rock him gently as Magnus tried to catch his breath and chase Kalle’s and “Louise”’s faces from his mind. The last thing the blond felt before falling again in a fretful sleep was Kurt’s warm lips against his brow.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Magnus woke up feeling completely drained. Between the nightmares and the emotions of the night, he was every bit as tired as he had been going to bed. The light was a pinkish grey and he assumed it must be somewhere around 7am. There was a weight on his chest and he looked down to see Kurt’s arm resting on him. They had moved quite a bit during the night and the man was now next to him, on his stomach, head half buried in a pillow, mouth open, drooling and snoring slightly. He looked ridiculous, and handsome, and Magnus smirked.

Then he smelled freshly made coffee and toasts and he suddenly remembered they were not alone in his flat. His door was shut. Had it been so the last time Kurt had entered? What if Linda had seen them on her way to the bathroom or the toilet? He licked his lips. He did not mind, but he was almost certain Kurt would.

At least they were both dressed. Might have a perfectly good explanation that did not involve anything untoward, right? Magnus shook his head. _Right_ , he thought wryly.

Extracting himself from Kurt’s embrace, he grabbed his blue silk robe, something of an indulgence, a gift from Kristen before their break-up. She had said it would go well with his eyes. He had not really cared to comment. He did like the contact of the decadent material on his skin though. He tied the belt and exited his room silently.

The guest-room’s door was open, offering the full view of an empty bed.

Goddammit.

Swallowing dryly, he walked to the kitchen. Linda was there, in a pink pyjama, humming and swaying to her own tune while she made breakfast. She saw him and smiled.

“Oh, hey, Magnus. Did you sleep well? I’m just starting on breakfast. You can’t imagine what a relief it is to be in the kitchen of someone who knows what proper, healthy food looks like.”

She was making fresh orange juice and toast with cheese, cucumber and ham. There was also a bowl of mixed fruits. Obviously, she had gone all in. He was surprised he had all of that in his fridge.

“Good… morning,” he replied, feeling weirdly awkward when he was, in fact, in his own kitchen and she was the guest. “You should not have bothered, I can...”

“Nonsense,” she grinned, “I like cooking. Plus, dad will probably force himself to eat because you’re with us. He may be a bear, but he was not that badly raised.”

A bear. Right. She could not possibly know the double-entendre, could she?

Then again, he had no idea of her sexuality, or what kind of friends she had, so…

“Although,” she mused, pressing another orange half, “maybe he was. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

She was not acting any different from the day before. Did she know? But it was not like he could enquire.

“How did you sleep,” he asked instead.

She paused, eyes leaving her task to lose themselves into space.

“I had a lot of nightmares,” she said eventually. Then she shook herself, licked her lips and went back to the pressing. “But your couch is much more comfortable than dad’s, I’ll tell you that much.”

She smiled at him and started chatting about how juicy his oranges were. He helped with the toasts. Then they brought everything to the dinner table.

“I should go wake Kurt,” he said, too quickly, starting towards the hallway. Bloody Hell, the girl was not blind, she had to know that...

“Magnus,” he stopped dead in his tracks, heart pounding.

But her next words were not what he was expecting.

“How long do you think they’ll locked dad’s house up as a crime scene?”

He blinked, fiddled with his belt and turned to look at her.

“I… I have no idea. A few days, I’d say. Maybe less. Pending investigation on their… On “Louise”’s death.”

“Louise,” she repeated, cocking her head to the side.

That was a complicated discussion to have just before breakfast.

“The… the person who took you hostage, Ake Larstam,” _The person I killed… God…_ “they were not… We’re not sure what gender they identified as. But for most of the case, we thought they were a woman named “Louise”.”

She looked away. “I see,” she said simply.

And the weird thing was, Magnus had the feeling she did.

 

* * *

 

He muled over Linda being investigator material all the way to his bedroom.

Kurt had not moved. He was still sprawled on his stomach, a foot sticking out from under the blanket, arms outstretched, snoring peacefully. Magnus, forgetting for a moment Linda and the rest, leaned against the door’s frame to admire him. There was a deep tenderness blooming in his chest. Like this, Kurt looked… vulnerable, yes, but at ease. In a way he never seemed to be when awake.

Magnus wanted to kiss his way along that broad back and…

Shaking himself, he walked in and leaned over the sleeping man, gently shaking his shoulder. He refused to imagine that Kurt could have second thoughts about them in the light of day. He would cross that bridge if and when they got to it.

“Kurt… Kurt, come on, wake up. We’ve got to be at the Station in an hour or so.”

The man groaned and opened his eyes groggily, raising his head and moving his lips and tongue as if tasting something unpleasant. He pushed himself up with his arms and blinked up at Magnus.

“Y… you okay, Magnus?”

The young man tilted his head to the side. He had not expected those to be the man’s first words upon waking.

“You were thrashing an awful lot during the night…” Kurt explained, sitting up and massaging his neck.

Magnus smiled, a bit painful. “I had a lot of nightmares, but… at least I slept through them,” _Not that it helped with the exhaustion, but..._ he shrugged lightly, “I’m sorry I kept you awake though.”

Kurt smiled in return, wide and genuine and the warmth came back to fill every inch of Magnus’ body. “Are you kidding? That might have been the best night sleep I’ve had in years.”

Some raised eyebrows. “Really? With me thrashing around all night long?”

“With you.”

That man. That damnable man...

“It changes a lot not to sleep alone any more.”

… So disarming.

Suddenly, he looked behind Magnus at the open door and the young man followed his gaze. But the hallway was empty. He walked to the door. Nothing. He turned a questioning gaze towards Kurt, who was frowning.

“Does she know?”

Magnus shook his head helplessly, looking at him with earnest eyes.

“I don’t know. We made breakfast together and she didn’t mention anything.”

Kurt’s frown deepened. Magnus did not dare say anything on the subject. He had no idea what the older man wanted to do, or should do for that matter. He never had kids, and it was not like he was planning to introduce Kurt to his family anytime soon. If at all. Well, he might write to Ester, but that was it.

Kurt got up and stretched under Magnus interested gaze. Then he stood in front of him, making Magnus aware he was blocking the door. With a vague “sorry” he moved to the right, but Kurt stopped him and pressed a light kiss to his lips. Then the older man looked at him, rather anxiously, and Magnus realised with some surprise that he had been, maybe still was, as anxious about Magnus’ thoughts on their newfound relationship now that the intimate night had dissolved into a new day as Magnus was.

He simply smiled and pressed a kiss to Kurt’s lips in return, before letting him go to the toilet and circling back to the sitting room.

 

* * *

 

Linda had greeted her father with a critical eye and a “You look less crappy than usual. I told you sleeping in an actual bed was good for you.” Both Magnus and Kurt had made a conscious effort not to look at each other, the younger man cursing a blond and fair complexion that made his blushing usually very visible.

They had a peaceful breakfast and Linda did not say anything about knowing where her father had spent part of the night. Magnus could see Kurt was relieved. Was he to become this man’s secret? The thought amused him rather than upset him. As long as he had Kurt’s affections, he did not much mind. He thought of “Louise” and wondered for a moment what it felt like, to love someone who did not love you back but still slept with you. Still kept the pretence of a relationship. Who loved someone else while hiding you under the rug. Or a wig.

And Kurt…

Suddenly not hungry any more he made his exit, going to brush his teeth and shave. It almost felt like “Louise” was with him in the room and suddenly he was suffocating again. He leaned on the sink and took a few deep breaths. He did not want that. That empathy. Not now that he had killed them. Not after the people they themselves had killed. He poured some water over his face and raised it to look into the mirror… noticing Kurt, dressed, leaning against the door’s frame, hands in his pocket. He looked concerned.

“Still…?” He asked, and Magnus did not pretend he did not know what he meant.

He nodded to the reflection and pushed his hair back nervously. Kurt frowned but Magnus shook his head. It was strange. He had never imagined he could one day have silent conversations with Kurt Wallander.

“Linda asked if she could stay for a few days,” Kurt said off handedly, and the blond could hear the joy and surprise in his voice, “and since we’re… well, pretty much homeless at the moment...”

Magnus smiled and grabbed a towel to dry his face. “You’re both welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

It would be strange to have so many people staying over for more than one night, but he was relieved that Kurt would be near. Strange, he had never needed anyone before.

Then again, he had never killed anyone before.

He forced the thought aside and left the bathroom to Kurt while he went to get dressed. He would have to get used to that dance of exchanging rooms, making food for more than one (no ordering in, not with Kurt’s diabetes!), the noise…

The last time had been at his parents’ with his brother and sister. But he had a feeling it would be better with the Wallanders around. Not that it was a particularly high bar.

They bid good day to Linda, who was reading on the couch and waved to them distractedly, and took Kurt’s car again to go to work.

 

* * *

 

It… did not go as expected. As soon as Magnus entered the building, and all the way up to their offices, people, some he knew, some he barely recognized, came to shake his hand and pat him on the back. They nodded to Kurt, but Magnus was apparently the star “du jour”.

Surprisingly – considering how much he usually liked the attention and spotlight – it made him deeply uncomfortable. Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe no-one deserved to die.

Maybe one should not be congratulated for killing another person, even if it had saved lives. At least, right at that moment, he felt that way.

Anne-Britt surprised him even more by taking him into her arms and squeezing him tightly. He knew she was not a tactile person. He heard her “Thank you for saving Kurt. I hope you’re okay.” muffled against his coat. He hesitantly wrapped his own arms around her while throwing a bewildered and perhaps a bit helpless look in Kurt’s direction, but the man was already fading into work mode, self-absorbed and moody.

He did not have time to dwell on it, because Lisa sprung out of her office like a jack-in-a-box and started telling him she did not want to see his face around until after Kalle’s funerals, that he was suspended pending the end of the investigation, and so on and so forth. She was fussing.

“I can take you back home,” Anne-Britt offered, releasing her iron grip on him and looking up with her best cocker-spaniel expression. But he shook his head and thanked her gracefully. He would take his own car. Frankly, if he could not work, he did not feel like having anyone else but Kurt around.

Only… Being alone meant thinking, and he was not sure how much of that he wanted to do right now.

But then, Lisa mentioned a therapist.

Never mind. He was out of there.

 

* * *

 

He did not go home immediately. Linda had a set of his keys, so it was possible she had gone out, but he did not exactly feel like taking the risk of finding himself alone with her again. He liked her, but it was definitely too awkward as long as he was not sure if she was aware of his newfound relationship with her father or not.

The problem was, aside from his home and his work, Magnus did not have a lot of things going on. Presumably, Angie and Lukas were at work, and so were the few and far between friends Magnus had around. He definitely was not going to go see his parents or his brother.

In the end, he parked near the woods and went for a walk. It was still early and he was alone. He left his coat in his car and was later glad for it as the heat kept climbing. As he was walking, thoughts turned on trying to name as many operas as he knew – it was better than the alternatives – he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He got it out and saw he had a text.

From Kurt.

Kurt, who regularly lost his phone, who typed like it was a competition in slowness, and who was, above all, at work. He blinked twice before opening it.

“You okay? Linda called to tell me she was going to see my dad, but she said you weren’t home. KW.”

Magnus felt a smile stretch his lips totally on its own.

“Yeah. Just taking a stroll through the woods.” He refrained from adding a smiley. He somehow knew his supervisor was not the smiley kind of person.

He did not get any reply, but then, he was not really expecting one. It was already some kind of miracle that Kurt had found it in him to send the first one. He finished his tour and took his car back home.

 

* * *

 

He was bored. Terminally bored. And restless.

It was not that he never had the odd day off that he filled with activities: running, swimming, cooking, reading, watching a film or a TV show and the like. But for some reason, that day, none of it worked. He had gone for a run, then for a swim, had made some lunch and preparations for dinner, had tried to read then watched the telly, but he still felt fidgety. He consciously avoided any form of news, because he was certain “Louise” was all over them. Would he be called for an interview? At any other time he would have been excited by the prospect. Right now, he dreaded the very thought. He could not talk about “Louise”, or Kalle, or any of the victims. He twisted his hands, looking out the window at the rolling sea. The sky was darkening fast and the wind had picked up.

A storm was brewing.

 _Great_ , he thought sarcastically. Storms were never a good news for policemen. Mayhem happened during storms, especially in the countryside.

He used to love them as a child though, he remembered. He felt safe, when Thor was around.

A silly thing, that Thor being around thing, but it was Ester, again. Ester and her never ending tales of heroes and gods and titans and demons. She loved the Edda, and she could make it come alive for him, when she felt like it, which was not that often. Still, it was often enough that he remembered being enamoured with the God of Thunder and his exploits.

He looked down at his hands. Ester’s were like his, long, slender. She had the same curly blond hair and clear blue eyes. But her features were softer, rounder, more like their mother’s.

Ester had also been… different. Crazy, their parents would say, mentally ill, needing to be cured, hospitalized. Sick. He did not know if that was the word for it.

She was simply different, moody and exhausted, hyperactive and elated. That was why she had left Sweden and her family behind.

Now she was a 31 year old artist: acting, painting, writing. Almost twice as old as she was when she ran away from their home the first time. He knew next to nothing of her life in New-York. He simply hoped she was safe. As safe as Ester could be. He took comfort in the fact that she had always been self-reliant.

 _I should go see her_ , he thought, not for the first time, _I have an address. For now._

But Ester did not want him to, she had said. Writing was fine, she had insisted. He, in turn, did not want to force his presence on her, no matter how he missed her, how he worried about her.

The sound of a key turning in the front door’s keyhole took him away from the memories of his sister. A few seconds later he saw Linda walk in, looking preoccupied. She put her bag on the couch and started when she saw him standing by the window.

“Oh, hey,” she smiled and put her hand in her back pockets, looking slightly embarrassed.

“You okay,” he asked, unconsciously peering at her for clues. Something was bothering her, that much was obvious.

She shrugged and finally sat on the couch.

“It’s…” She hesitated, looking up at him with keen eyes of her own. “It’s nothing. Family stuff.”

Something was wrong with Kurt’s father. Of course, after all, the old man obviously was a bit… well, he had been arrested for fighting.

Magnus nodded to indicate he would not pry and went to make some tea. When he came back, Linda had opened the window and was sitting on the frame, one knee up, foot curled around the plastic. He put the tray with their mugs and some biscuits on the coffee table. She took the offered mug with a nod and a smile.

“I also took some times to think,” she said, as Magnus was leaning on the wall with his own tea. “About you and dad.”

He stopped drinking and looked at her. So, the cat was out of the bag, was it? Or was she fishing for information? He raised his eyebrows silently, daring her to continue. She smiled again, wider, as if she appreciated his attitude.

“So, you... are together, right?”

Magnus licked his lips, unsure how to answer. Kurt might want him to deny it. On the other hand, he did not like to straight up lie about it. Not telling was one thing, but...

“Ah,” Linda said knowingly, “a new thing, is it?”

“Very new,” Magnus replied with a shrug.

“Like… last night new?”

He nodded, this time feeling his face heat up a bit. Linda laughed. “Oh God… that’s… that has to be a new one for dad.”

He hesitated again, unsure how to handle her words. But finally, curiosity won:

“The fact that I am a man, you mean?”

She grinned. “Oh no. You’re not the first. At least I don’t think you are. I meant, discovering love in between the sheets by a dark not so stormy night. It’s very spontaneous and romantic. Dad is usually a bit more traditional.”

Outside, it started raining. Magnus did not know what to say. He did not know if it was love, on Kurt’s side. He suspected as much, but he could not be sure. Not yet. All of it was too new. He glanced from his mug to her face, trying to gauge her reaction. She was looking at him, head slightly tilted to the side.

“I don’t care that you’re a man,” She finally said with a smile. In the stormy grey light of the room she looked like a maiden from a fairytale, sitting by the window, hair moving softly with the wind, delicate fingers wrapped around her mug. “I care that you’re good for him. He’s so very fragile. No, perhaps not fragile. Vulnerable. He gets lost so easily in everything. Work, especially.”

Magnus nodded silently and came to stand directly next to her, on hand against the window shelf, He looked at the street. The rain was getting stronger. Some place close, a dog was yapping. He could still feel her eyes on his face.

“I only hope you’ve got the strength and the patience for the ride. Mum couldn’t do it. I often can’t do it, even as his daughter.”

Magnus glanced at her. She was smiling.

“I don’t know about that.”

“I think you do. He talks a lot about you. Has been for a while. About how you’d go against him straight on. How angry you’d get. What a smart-arse pain you were. He didn’t even realise he was telling me those things, while he almost never talks about work except when it gets too close to home. But he talks about you. So you have to be. Close to home, I mean. In a sense. And I think you intimidate him quite a bit.”

“Me,” Magnus was honestly surprised, even after their late night shared confessions.

Linda grinned.

"You. That’s a good thing, I think. Your opinion matters to him. He needs someone who’ll keep him out of his own head and tell him when he fucks up. Someone who care enough to put their foot down.”

Magnus did not say anything. Was it what he had been doing? Putting his foot down? He knew he was one of the only ones – if not the only one – to tell Kurt when he fucked up, but many a time that same Kurt had made him feel like an obnoxious child throwing a temper tantrum. And here was his daughter telling him his supervisor was intimidated by him?

Well…

“I’ll say though, it’s a bit weird that you’re so young. I mean, you’re not that much older than I am, right? I remember when I first saw you at some event or another. I thought you were quite handsome and I almost made a move.”

Magnus gagged a bit on his tea and coughed. She grinned.

“But now that I know you’re into older men, I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

Now he knew she was teasing him and he glared a bit. But he felt relieved all the same.

She chuckled silently and when he looked at her again, her eyes were on her tea, face soft.

“Just… I know he’s a hard man to be with, you know? And you’ll probably have one thousands reasons to give up on him at some point, but… try not to hurt him too much, okay?”

“I don’t plan to,” he replied, though he knew very well what she meant. Kurt was a pain in the backside, but Magnus wanted to be with him even so. “I… really like him.”

He had almost said he loved him, but she was not the one he should be telling it to. It was too soon anyway.

He wondered idly how she would fit into his life. How he would fit into hers. If at all. He could not imagine seeing her as a daughter, she was too old, too mature. But, perhaps, a friend. A surrogate sister.

Which, considering he hoped to shag her father sooner rather than later, might be a bit weird.

Ah, well. At least she approved of him.

Someone knocked at the door. Linda looked at her watch. “7.30. If it’s dad, I’ll buy you the biggest cinnamon roll this side of the ocean. He’s never home this early. That is, if he’s not just coming and going.”

Okay, she had to know about those double-entendre. They needed to have a talk about that at some point. Well, in theory, not in reality. He went to open the door, putting his mug down on the way.

It was, indeed, Kurt. He looked tired but rather better than usual, even if he was soaked. He had a half empty water bottle in his hand, and Magnus wondered distractedly if he had gone to his GP yet. He let him in and Linda appeared with a smile. She hugged her father while Magnus shut the door and made a quick trip to the bathroom to fetch Kurt a towel.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said and brushed his hair back, drying him as best she could, “you need a hair cut. And a shave. And you’re wet. Ever heard of umbrellas?”

Magnus, who rather liked Kurt’s rough looks, said nothing. Though he had an idea that Kurt might also look quite fine in a good suit, clean shaven and styled. But that would not really be Kurt.

“Anything else,” Kurt asked in a tired, but amused voice, taking over the drying duty.

“Well, you could use to start running regularly to get back in shape and perhaps buying new clothes and...”

“I’m going to go, now,” the older man interrupted with a smile and Linda grinned.

“Well, sorry, but you’ve got a handsome boyfriend now, you need to make a bit of an effort to keep him.”

Kurt stilled, like a deer caught in headlights. Then he turned a rather thunderous face towards Magnus. But before the younger man could indignantly protest his innocence, Linda rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on his arm, bringing his attention back to her.

“Dad, I’m not blind. He didn’t tell me. He didn’t need to. Don’t tell me you didn’t somehow want me to find out? You were hardly discreet. Kissing in the hallway? Well, I already gave him the “don’t hurt him” speech and I think he’s perfect.”

“The “don’t hurt him” speech,” Kurt repeated, puzzled.

“Yeah. Oh, and I phoned a friend of mine. I’m going out tonight.” She grabbed her shoes and coat.

Then she looked at her father pointedly.

“Don’t. Get. Back. To. Work. I mean it.”

“But,” Kurt tried to protest, looking lost and suddenly worried and sad. Magnus wondered if he feared Linda might not come back. Had that happened before?

Linda finished putting her shoes on and grabbed her bag.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” she smiled and kissed her father’s cheek. “But I really need to see Birgit.” A shadow passed upon her face and Magnus frowned, but she did not give them time to consider it and left, grabbing her umbrella on the way.

The door closed behind her and they were alone.

 

* * *

 

Magnus blinked. It was rather abrupt and he felt a bit worried. They looked at each other.

“You’re dripping wet,” Magnus said awkwardly and immediately felt himself blush a deep red. “I’ll just, I’ll just go get you some tea and you finish drying up!”

He made his exit to the kitchen. Good grief! “Dripping wet”? Really?

He massaged his temples while the boiler did it job. He was usually way better at this. Smooth. He had a lot of practice with both, well, with all genders really. He scratched his hair anxiously. Dammit, why was he so nervous? He glanced at his artistic kitchen clock.

7.45. And he was making tea. _What am I? British?_ _Making tea as soon as I don’t know what to do with myself?_ He shook his head and went to the fridge to get out the big salad he had spent an hour preparing in the afternoon. He heard the noise of the shower and smiled, happy that Kurt was taking care of himself for once. He set the table and served milked tea in case Kurt felt like it.

It was nothing, he thought. They already had dinner, just the two of them.

Once.

But it did not have to be weird. He sat down and started to play with his fork, navigating it between his fingers.

“So you do that with any long utensil?”

The fork made a resonating clang when it fell on Magnus’ plate. He looked up as Kurt came to sit in the opposite chair. Magnus blinked, unsure what to feel or say. Had Kurt just… made a so-bad-it’s-kind-of-funny innuendo? Or was he simply oblivious and Magnus should just get his mind out of the gutter already?

“H...habits,” he choked.

Kurt scratched his chin, looking at the salad with a dubious expression. Magnus took back his fork and hesitated. The last dinner, they had more or less each taken their share, in between talks and offers of sauce or requests for salt. But now that it was jut the two of them, he was unsure how he was supposed to behave. Sighing inwardly as his own awkwardness – _For God’s sake, it’s Kurt, he probably doesn’t give a shit_ – he served a good portion to the older man and then to himself.

“How’s the Station,” he asked, settling back on his chair, opening his napkin with casual efficiency. Kurt shrugged and Magnus knew that he was not going to get an answer.

Or so he thought.

“The press called a few times. We scheduled a press conference for the day after tomorrow, without you for now. Anne-Britt has taken on the smuggling car case and Lisa has asked for temporary replacement to be sent for you and… and Kalle. Until someone can be found to fill in for him full time.”

Magnus’ fork stopped mid-air and he put it back down, stomach suddenly wounded too tight to eat. God. And to think a few weeks back, Kurt was the presence between Kalle and him, in a fleeting moment, in a small Copenhagen hotel.

Now Kalle was here, a silence, a secret…

He eyed Kurt who was finally eating, hunger winning over distaste perhaps. How would the man react if he knew Magnus had slept with Kalle, just two weeks before his death? Should they talk about it? Was that something one should discuss with their “significant other”? He imagined sexual past would be on the table eventually, but this... Kalle was an entirely different thing.

He remembered his underwear, suddenly, and gripped his napkin with irrational dread. After all, they did not have his name on them, and Kalle had washed them. They would probably disappear with all of Kalle’s things. Clothes usually were given away to charity by families, or thrown into the bin, especially clothes of this kind. There is no reason, no reason at all, that Kurt, or anyone really, should make the link between those and Magnus.

But he knew he would need to tell Kurt at some point.

“Magnus,” Kurt asked, mouth still half full. He swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

His voice said he knew that something was, indeed, wrong, and the gentle nudge in it invited confession. He did not know if it was conscious, but Kurt was talking to him like he did with a reluctant or frightened witness. Perhaps that was one of the things Kurt’s wife had not been able to deal with, that a cop never really stopped being a cop?

He looked down at his glass so he would not have to see Kurt’s concerned eyes focused searchingly on him.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt Kurt’s hand on his, rough with calluses, but warm and comforting. There was a ring on it, too.

He glanced up.

“No, it’s… it’s nothing.”

He could not tell him, not yet. Not so soon after… after everything. Kurt looked down at his hand and winced. He took it back and Magnus could tell he was fiddling with the ring bellow the table – trying to take it off, perhaps?

“Kurt, I don’t mind,” he said, going with his instinct.

The man glanced up at him. He looked confused.

“You… You don’t?”

Magnus shrugged. “We’re still new, and I know, well maybe not know, but I can guess, what that ring means to you. If you need time to get it off, I don’t mind. I’m not jealous of Inga. I used to think it was sad that you couldn’t seem to move on, but I’ve never been married, certainly never had a child with anyone. I mean, I won’t be upset, if you choose to keep it on for now. Not forever, obviously, but… for now, it’s fine.”

He managed to stop talking by biting his tongue.

“So, it’s not that?”

“That what?”

“What is wrong.”

Shit. The man was one Hell of a blood hound.

“Look, Kurt, this… this thing. I can’t talk about it right now, okay? I promise I will, when I’m ready, but please, let it be. It has nothing to do with… with us.”

Well that was not a complete lie, perhaps not a complete truth, but he did hope that it would really have nothing to do with them in the long run.

“Is it about… Kalle’s case?”

Magnus nodded and Kurt did the same in response. He stopped his questioning and went back to his salad. Magnus started eating again too and for a moment, there was a silence between them, not exactly uncomfortable, but charged.

“What did Linda mean by the “don’t hurt him” speech?”

Magnus, who was bringing a bowl of fruits having just put the salad away blinked.

“Er, it’s a sort of… well, it’s a reference to the fact that when a new relationship starts in literature or films, someone close to one of them would sometimes threatens the other one with pain or death if they hurt their loved one.”

“She threatened you with death?”

Kurt looked bewildered. Magnus chuckled.

“No, nothing like that. But she did tell me not to hurt you. Not that I ever wanted to, mind.”

“Even when you burst into my office to...”

“… scream at you? Hell no, Kurt. I knew that would hurt you, but I just… I did it because I care! About the job, about the squad, but about you too! I didn’t want to see you suspended, or worse! If I didn’t care, if I’d only wanted to hurt you, I would have let it slide, or reported you!”

His vehemence seemed to amuse Kurt.

“I was going to say “when you burst into my office to be a pain in the arse little shit” but, yes, I… I know you care. I know that’s why you’re always on my case.”

“Is that why you are always on mine,” asked Magnus immediately, putting the bowl on the table and crossing his arms.

Now Kurt looked… slightly uncomfortable.

“Hum… Well, no. Not that I don’t. Care that is. It’s true I want you to be the great detective I know you can be, once your arrogance and impatience get knocked down a peg. I want to guide you like Rydberg did me. You did not get to meet him, but he made me the policeman I am. Yes, you annoy me sometimes and I feel the need to…”

“Treat me like an office-boy?”

Kurt winced but nodded.

“But that’s not all...” Magnus sat down and took an apple, still looking at the older man, this time making his own inquiry. “Anne-Britt is easier to deal with, right?”

“No. Well yes. But that’s not it either… It’s...” Kurt trailed off, looking away and dribbling his fingers on the table. “I have been… well… I did not know you were… interested… until recently… so I didn’t know I had a chance… and well...”

Magnus blinked, disbelief running through him.

“You were attracted to me and you didn’t know how to handle it, that’s it?”

Kurt nodded. Magnus blinked. Blinked again. Then he started to laugh, shoulders shaking.

“What?”

He coughed a little and smiled at Kurt, not even trying to hide his tenderness.

“We are a pair of clueless idiots,” he said, then got up, leaving everything on the table despite all his usual instincts towards cleanliness.

He offered a hand to Kurt, who looked up at him.

“Come to bed with me?”

He did not want to wait or overthink this any more.

 

* * *

 

It had been a bit less of a rush than Magnus thought it would be. They had taken off trousers, socks and shirts, settled on the bed and, after looking at each other for a moment, started touching. They were trading kisses while hands travelled gently all over their chests, backs and waists. Kurt’s touch was reverent, adoring and it made Magnus blush all the way down his neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kurt whispered, hand tracing his collarbone, making him shiver with slow burning pleasure. He grabbed that hand and pressed a kiss to it, the ring shining. It sent a thrill along his spine, as if they were doing something elicit, secret, like an affair, even knowing it was not the case.

Well, the wedding ring was actually working for him, how about that? Better not let Kurt know that yet.

“What do you like,” he asked instead, pressing another kiss on the rough skin. “in bed I mean?”

He watched, delighted, his supervisor blush in the twilight of the room. It was adorable how Kurt seemed both comfortable and out of his depths.

 “I… er… We always made love slowly. Inga liked it like that.”

Magnus pushed him back and straddled his hips, long arms trapping the older man’s head on his pillow.

“I didn’t ask what Inga liked. I want to know what you like, you, Kurt Wallander. Do you like it sweet and slow? Fast and hard? Do you like to top? Do you prefer to bottom? Both? Or is anal sex something you don’t like at all? Are there things that are off limit? Things you want to wait before doing? Things you want right now? Do you have kinks? That kind of thing.”

Kurt’s eyes went comically wide. Obviously the man was not used to discuss those subject so openly, without shame or qualm. Magnus, for his part, had learned early on through his various experiences, that talking about consent, about boundaries and preferences made for a much more fulfilling experience for all parties involved.

Plus he had enough self-awareness and testimonies from past lovers to know his voice and accent usually got his partner going when using certain terms or describing things, even in such a context.

Seeing Kurt’s face, the hunger in his gaze, the way he licked at his lips, he knew it had worked once again. He playfully leaned down so he could press his arousal against Kurt’s. The man groaned, long and deep and Magnus shivered at the sound.

“What… what do you like…” Kurt gritted his teeth “… Magnus?”

The younger man smirked, licking his lips slowly.

“I’m a very open guy,” he murmured, taking his time to say each word, leaning to kiss and softly blow on Kurt’s chest and nipples, “I’m quite… accommodating... I love oral sex. Licking. Sucking. There’s nothing quite like getting your partner off... with... your mouth… I prefer to take a man’s… hard... cock... deep inside of me, hard… but I never say no to fucking him either...”

His hand slid along Kurt’s soft doughy body, delighted to feel taught muscles under that same softness. His long finger traced the contour of an erection under now damp fabric. He licked his lips. Kurt was well-endowed, thick, he could feel it. The man groaned again. He was panting, shuddering more and more with each of Magnus’ word.

“You’re… you’re shameless,” he mumbled, sounding more impressed than reproachful, lost, but in pleasure this time.

Magnus chuckled, continuing his light, teasing touch with one hand, the other caressing Kurt’s chest, getting lost in the thick dark hair they found there.

“Sex is nothing to ashamed of, Kurt...”

He moved slowly above his lover, only stopping when the older man’s hands closed around his thighs, gripping him hard. He smiled, arched his back a little.

“If you enjoy it, it’s something to be celebrated. And I really, really love sex.”

He pressed down on Kurt’s pelvis and this time the man let out a breathless cry. A moment later, their position were reversed and Magnus moaned when Kurt pressed him down, large body forcing its place between his spread legs.

“I like this,” Kurt groaned, sweat marring his brow, “I like listening to you, being with you, I don’t care about the rest! I want you. I want to… I want to fuck you.”

He kissed Magnus, crushing him under his body, hand gripping his hair. Then his teeth were on Magnus’ neck, nipping and biting. Magnus surged forwards, his erection pressing against Kurt’s.

He felt the man smile against his flesh.

“Sensitive spot?

“Very,” he mumbled, gripping Kurt’s head, encouraging. More kisses, a tongue roughly tasting him, and Magnus was panting, body moving, shifting, searching for more friction, for something to relieve the tension coiling in his lower belly. He was burning up, swallowed by pleasure, engulfed in Kurt’s addictive scent. Kurt went back to his neck and he shuddered helplessly under the older man’s assaults.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kurt repeated, kissing his way back to his mouth. “So...” another kiss “lean” a nip to his lower lip “so pale.” A deeper kiss. “You smell so good.”

Damn the man! He was being expertly seduced and he was sure Kurt was not even trying. He was simply completely candid about his appreciation of Magnus’ body.

“Ahh… Kurt...”

His lover groaned something in reply but was too busy worrying his earlobe to make it clear. Magnus gripped his back, blunt nail scratching the skin. Kurt rolled his body forward, panting and Magnus keened. He wanted Kurt’s cock, but he also wanted this sweet torture to never end.

 “Magnus… I...”

The blond blinked up at him, seeing how sweaty Kurt was, but also how wild he looked. Like a beast. He liked it.

“In the night stand,” he mumbled. Then. “Let me.”

Kurt moved away and fell next to him as Magnus scrambled back up. He opened the drawer and took condoms and lube. When he turned back, Kurt was watching him intently, reclining on one arm. He could almost feel his eyes burning along his skin. He licked his lips slowly and watched as Kurt’s eyes followed the movement. He put the condom and the small bottle of lube on the table and, slowly, took his underwear off, standing naked under his lover’s gaze. It was intimate in a way that made even him blush, but he also felt powerful, the way Kurt’s eyes seemed unable to leave his body.

“Take it off,” he ordered, nodding towards the last piece of cloth hiding Kurt from his own hungry eyes.

Kurt immediately got up and did so, less gracefully and with a lot more modesty, but Magnus almost purred when he saw the man completely naked. He grabbed his face and kissed him deeply, feeling Kurt’s arms around his waist. He wanted to be in those arms forever. He wanted Kurt to never leave him. He thought how close he had been of losing him, even before they got to know this. Got to have this. He felt a surprising wetness under his eyelids.

“Magnus...” His lover sounded concerned, but he was not ready to talk about this, not now. He would get angry and frustrated at Kurt’s lack of self-preservation later. But he would. Nobody, nobody, would take Kurt away from him, and certainly not Kurt’s own recklessness.

He pushed Kurt gently, until he sat down before Magnus, looking up at him, hand descending to caress one firm buttock.

Magnus took a few second to enjoy the position and the look of quiet adoration and storming desire on his lover’s face. Then he pushed Kurt’s legs apart and knelt down between them, eyes on the thick flesh rising from a nest of dark wiry hair. He leant down.

“Magnus, you don’t have to...” Kurt’s voice was weak, strained.

Looking up at him from under his eyelashes, the blond smirked.

“I know I don’t have to. But I will. I told you: I love it.”

Then he pressed a soft kiss against the bulbous head and his smirk grew at the swear Kurt could not contain.

“Okay,” he asked nonetheless, because no matter how much he enjoyed it, he would stop immediately if Kurt was even a bit uncomfortable. But the man nodded frantically.

“It’s been a while...” he gritted, “Inga… didn’t…”

 _Her loss_ , though Magnus and licked the column of flesh with gusto. The way Kurt reacted was amazing, strong body shaking and mouth making the most delicious sounds. Magnus caressed him under his balls and took them in hand just as he was wrapping his lips around the burning flesh. He was good at this, enjoyment birthed enthusiasm and practice made perfect. He learnt quickly what Kurt liked, what did not quite work and what made him scream and hump helplessly. He loved the weight and the taste of him on his tongue, the smell was strong, but it was Kurt’s and he knew he would love doing this again and again. Perhaps even in surprising places...

One hand gripped his hair and he smiled around his prize. He let go slowly, just long enough to say.

“Fuck my mouth, Kurt. Fuck it! I know you’ve been dying to find a way to shut me up, punishing the frustrating little shit… well, this is it.”

The sound Kurt made was barely human and Magnus knew he was in for a full ride. Perfect. He concentrated on suppressing his gag reflex and let Kurt rock into him, rough, demanding.

Too soon for his liking, the hand pushed him away. His lover was panting, red and sweating, out of breath. He was glorious.

“Knew you’d have a talented mouth,” he panted, seemingly inhibited in his pleasure. Magnus pressed a hand on his own cock, biting at his lip at the idea that Kurt might have…

“You’ve been dreaming about it, haven’t you,” he teased, liking his lips, savouring the lingering taste. “My mouth on your cock, forcing me to gag on it.”

“Oh for the...” Kurt bit on his hand and glared at him, eyes feverish, “stop saying things like that or I’ll...”

Would he be able to make Kurt come just by talking to him? Watching him masturbate to his voice? He put the thought away for future reference and grabbed condom and lube.

“You wanna…,” he asked softly, unable to keep his own want from his voice. Now that he had tasted Kurt’s fat cock, he really, really wanted to feel it inside him.

The man flushed an even deeper shade of red but nodded quickly. Magnus pressed the condom in one lax hand, amused when he saw Kurt try to remember how to open the pack, what to do with it and how.

Meanwhile he poured some of the gel in his hand, spreading it on his fingers. He rose on his knees and prepared himself quickly, eyes barely leaving Kurt, who, done with the condom, watched his moves rapturously.

When he felt sufficiently relaxed, he rose on his feet and straddled his lover, grabbing him and holding him up while he lowered himself.

He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes tightly until the head was in. It was tight, Kurt thick and unyielding. He moved his hips slowly until the burn subsided. His breath became panting huffs of pleasure. The pain made it even better, even more conscious of what was happening and with whom. His other arm was wrapped around Kurt’s shoulder. He could feel the man’s breath on his throat as his hands gripped his thighs hard enough to bruise, stopping his sinuous movements.

“If you continue, I’m going to come… You’re so fucking tight, Magnus!”

“I’m not goning to be disappointed if you do,” He murmured truthfully. They had time, time to do everything they wanted. And right now, what he wanted was Kurt, coming apart. He could get his own orgasm in many ways, he was not worried about it.

Kurt looked up at him. He seemed startled, like he could not believe what Magnus was saying. He obviously still had a lot to learn, no matter how long he had been married or how many other partners he may have had. It took him away from his body for a moment, and Magnus used it to take him completely into himself.

For a few seconds, he lost sight of what he was doing or where he was, the pain and pleasure blinding him to everything else. He wrapped both arms around Kurt and held him tightly, just as tightly as his lover was holding him. He breathed in Kurt’s smell – coffee, his body-soap, the Station’s air, sweat and musk. Something that was only Kurt. He loved it.

“Love it,” he mumbled. “So thick, so good Kurt… Kurt...”

He loved the name on his tongue, loved saying it, and obviously the man loved hearing him saying it. The hands left his thigh and travelled along his back, caressing. One found the place they were joined and Magnus moaned, canting his hips forward. The move made the thick cock inside him press against his sweet spot and he screamed. Kurt seized his face and pressed their lips together, swallowing the sound.

“Careful,” he murmured. He sounded strained, like he was close to screaming himself. He jerked his hips and Magnus bit his lip, enough to draw blood. God, this felt so good! A thumb caressed his lips, wiping the tangy iron taste. But rather than allowing it to escape, Magnus took the wandering digit into his mouth, sucking roughly.

Kurt swore again, voice even deeper, almost as rough as his skin.

“So good, Magnus,” he mumbled and the blond moaned in approval.

Kurt was everywhere, inside him, inside his mouth, around him, under him… He started moving his hips quicker. Kurt started moving against his own push and soon he was stimulated continually. He felt feverish, burning heat running inside his body.

“Magnus… I want…” Kurt managed to say, between groans and wordless pleas.

“An...anything,” he replied, meaning it to his core. He would do anything Kurt wanted at this moment.

But the older man was pushing him up and he groaned indignantly, rising nonetheless until Kurt was freed from his body.

He swept the sweat from his eyes and looked down, interrogative and impatient. Kurt swallowed and pointed at the bed behind him.

Oh. The position might have been too hard on the man. Magnus smiled and crawled beside him, until her was lying on his stomach, arching his back and glancing playfully at his lover, a challenge in his eyes.

“You little shit,” Kurt rumbled, far too fond.

He moved suddenly, gripping Magnus’ hips and forcing him to turn on his side, back to Kurt. Magnus moaned in pleasure at being manhandled thus and obeisantly accommodate his lover when he grabbed one of his legs and forced it up, penetrating him again in a violent jerking of his hips. The brutal possession forced the blond to bite his pillows to stifle his scream. He felt teeth on his shoulder and he hoped they would leave their mark. He wanted his body to remind him of Kurt’s lust till they did it again… and again…

“Kurt… Kurt...” He found himself repeating as the man pushed in and out of him with vicious desire. What he lacked in skill he made up in enthusiasm and passion.

It felt so good.

Then it felt even better when Kurt’s hand found his own hard cock and started working him rudely, like he could not be careful any more.

Magnus’ hands fisted his pillow. He could not stop his hips from following Kurt’s movements. He never wanted him away from him, wanted to keep him inside. But Kurt’s hips started to stutter, losing their rhythm and he felt the cock inside him growing and suddenly Kurt growled low and deep. The idea that the older man was finding his release inside of him was almost enough, and he grabbed Kurt’s hand on his own cock, pressing and pulling, and he was coming. He bit down in the pillow again to silence the sound of his orgasm.

For a long moment, they did not move, trying to catch their breaths, Kurt especially. Then the older man’s hand started caressing his arm, softly, finding the place where his fingers were gripping the pillow and prying them away to entangle them with its own. The hand was wet… with his seed, Magnus thought with a smile. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it. The sharp intake of breath from behind him was gratifying.

After another moment, Kurt slowly, carefully disentangled himself from Magnus’ body. The blond groaned, but helped him as best he could. He heard Kurt get up, felt the loss of his heat. But it was only a moment. Then he was back with a tissue, condom disposed of. He summarily clean Magnus then threw the thing on the floor – Magnus cringed at the idea, but he felt too good to complain.

He turned in his lover’s embrace and kissed him, again and again, feeling the rough hands exploring his body again, unhurried this time. Their kisses were just as slow.

“It was amazing,” Marcus murmured against Kurt’s lips.

Then he raised his head to be able to look at his face properly, pushing a strand of grey hair away from his face. He was worried by how red and out of breath Kurt was, but there would be time to address that later.

Kurt opened his mouth, obviously wanting to share in the sentiment, but not finding the strength or the words, or both, he closed it again and just nodded, hand caressing Magnus’ cheek tenderly. They looked at each other for a while, lazily trading kisses and caresses.

Eventually, Magnus got up and went to retrieved a bottle of water they shared, lying next to each other. Magnus did not remember the last time he had felt this content after sex.

“I need a shower,” Kurt said finally, in a voice that distinctly lacked motivation. Magnus chuckled and nodded.

They took their turn to shower and while Kurt was under the spray, Magnus disposed of the tissue and changed the sheets, which gained him a raised eyebrow from Kurt when he came back.

“What,” Magnus asked, a tad defensively, “I like to sleep in clean, dry sheets.”

Kurt chuckled and kissed him. He, too, seemed content, at ease.

They laid down, entangled, still not quite ready to let go of each other’s attentions to sleep.

“Thank you,” Kurt mumbled and Magnus raised his eyebrows.

He was leaning on his elbow over the older man, head in his hand, the other playing with Kurt’s still slightly damp chest hair.

“You’re more than welcome. Should I thank you as well? How very... proper.”

Kurt gave him a little slap on the hip and Magnus chuckled. But the older man’s eyes were oddly serious.

“Kurt, I lo… I like you. I didn’t lie when I said the sex was amazing and I honestly hope this… is something we’ll do again. Often.”

The older man chuckled in turn.

“Give an old man a little pity.”

But Magnus’ keen investigator’s ears heard the true insecurity hidden behind the joke.

“You said I was beautiful, but I don’t think I have told you how sexy I find you yet. How handsome and strong.”

Kurt’s eyes told him he did not believe him.

“I’m… old… and in hardly what you would call a good shape. I’m sort of chubby and...”

Magnus put a finger on his lips, stopping the flow.

“You’re not old. You’ve got eighteen years on me, so what? I like older men, if you must know. And when I say I find you sexy, it’s not a lie or a false praise. You are sexy. You have the most captivating eyes and voice, the most beautiful smile. So, you’re a little doughy? I like it too, you’re both hard and soft, your embrace is amazing.”

Kurt tried to interrupt him but Magnus kissed him to silence his protests.

“If you feel out of shape, we can work on it, go running together or something. It would be good for your health too. But it’s your choice. I like you as you are.”

“You’re saying significantly less stupid things when naked in a bed,” Kurt remarked and Magnus rolled his eyes before grinning. “You certainly didn’t seem to mind my tongue earlier.”

Kurt laughed and Magnus was pleased, so rare it was to see his supervisor laugh. After a moment, Magnus laid his head on Kurt’s chest and listened to the strong heart.

“This is going to complicate things at work,” he half-asked, half-declared.

He felt rather than hear Kurt’s sigh.

"We’ll see how it goes, after you are cleared and reinstated. We will talk to Lisa.”

Magnus nodded and closed his eyes, glad Kurt did not say they were going to hide it. He would have accepted it, but knowing that the older man was this committed was comforting.

He hoped they would be granted a little tranquillity, enough to get their bearings, before the next horror fell onto them.

 

* * *

 

The next day they had breakfast with Linda and he blushed when he saw that her keen eyes had not missed the way he gingerly sat down at the table.

She just smirked knowingly.

Thankfully, Kurt seemed oblivious to it all.

 

* * *

 

Kalle’s funerals were hard on all of them.

 _I’m sorry, Kalle_ , Magnus said silently again, as he put his rose on top of the coffin. _I’m so sorry. I hope you’re happier_ _now_ _and that the weights that crushed you down in life are gone. And I’m grateful. Without you, it would probably have taken me years to realise how in love I am with Kurt. I’m sorry your death was the catalyst. I hope you can forgive me, wherever you are._

Kurt, too, spent a long moment contemplating the coffin and Magnus could not help wonder what he was telling their departed colleague.

Once outside, Kurt proposed they all go have a drink together. He looked like it mattered to him more than a simple drink should and, at first, everyone seemed to agree. But then Nyberg said he could not, Lisa nodded regretfully in agreement and Anne-Britt added she should probably go back to her children.

Kurt looked somehow defeated.

Magnus smiled gently and pressed his shoulder against his supervisor’. He wanted to take his hand but he could not. Not yet.

“Let’s go have this drink,” he said simply. “For Kalle.”

Kurt looked at him for a few seconds. Then he nodded.

And smiled.

 

* * *

  

  **The End (of season 1)**

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest fic I have ever written in English. It is not my native language and I could not find a beta for this fic, so I apologize for any mistakes left in it. Don't hesitate to point them out. I would welcome comments and reviews.  
> Thank you for reading.


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